yakuly

[yakuly]

Tava rolando pelo tiktok quando me deparo com um vídeo interessante...e depois um segundo vídeo da mesma pessoa [💌]

E agora tô aqui imaginando fom água na boa uma aula de dança com o professor Lee Know que enquanto ensina a coreografia é severo de mais, mas quando passa a coreografia com a sua aluna favorita, não consegue controlar a vontade de repetir a coreografia num quarto sozinho com ela 🥵

[yakuly]

Leilão²

LeeSoohyuk!CEO x Leitora!Universitária

Palavras: 4.739

Resumo: Após uma noite de bebedeiras, acordar com um contrato para leiloar sua virgindade não estava nos planos de S/n, porém ela o fez. O multimilionário Lee Soohyuk é quem arrebata o prêmio, e após um excelente jantar, toma posse do sua remuneração.

Avisos: Diferença de idade; sexo explícito; MENORES NÃO INTERAJAM!; Nudez tem. e masc; Soohyuk experiente e dominador; masturbação feminina (menção do masculino); penetração vaginal; Não revisado.

💌: Demorei? Demorei. Mas vim mais cedo que de costume, então parabéns pra mim, eu acho... Confesso que não estou tão segura com algumas cenas, mas espero que gostem ( Estava editando e confesso quefiquei bem assim 🫦 toda vez que ele chama a prota de alguma coisa, porque já logo escuto a voz pecaminoso dele.)

🍾 Parte 1

Hongjoong foi quem acompanhou S/n para um outro quarto privado, para esperarem o tal "sortudo" para combinarem os detalhes da venda. No momento em que o loiro fecha a porta, a garota começa a desferir tapas em seu braço, o fazendo titubear e reclamar com ela, a fazendo parar.

"Você é maluco? Quase que um brutamontes boçal me compra!" Apesar da máscara ainda cobrindo seu rosto Kim conseguiu ver a forma como seus olhos estavam arregalados, e até ficou agradecido por ela não estar gritando. Ele da de ombros e se afasta da porta, optando por sentar em um sofá qualquer, e aquilo à frustra mais.

O sorriso presunçoso volta a sua face, conforme ele fala preguiçoso "Mas não comprou. Eu te garanti que sei o que estou fazendo, me surpreende sua falta de fé em mim..."

No momento em que S/n se preparou para uma excelente resposta desaforada quando a porta se abriu, e de repente o homem que a arrematou estava ali bem a sua frente. A primeira impressão que ela teve era que ele é ainda mais alto e bonito ali a sua frente. Os dois se olham, absorvendo a imagem um do outro, e mesmo assim, o modo como ele a media não era nojento como o loiro no salão.

"Soohyuk! Meu amigo..." Hongjoong se levanta pairando ao seu lado, e o tal homem sorri deixando de te olhar, mas mesmo assim, sua respiração parecia não ter planos de voltar ao normal. "Fico feliz que veio!"

"Bom, você conseguiu garantir que eu viria" o tal Soohyuk da de ombros parecendo muito confortável com a situação toda, o que a fez se questionar quantas virgindades ele já não tinha arrematado com Hongjoong.

Pelo menos ele vai saber o que está fazendo...

"Tudo bem conseguiu o que queria..." o moreno fala, e se aproxima dos dois, seu perfume inebriando os sentidos da garota, mas ainda não se direcionando diretamente a ela "amanhã de manhã entro em contato com você, e ajustamos melhor" Lee finalmente a olha, e se aproxima lentamente. As mãos do homem vão em direção ao laço da máscara atrás da cabeça da garota, e ela sente o tecido se afrouxar. O próprio Soohyuk segura a máscara finalmente vendo seu rosto por completo, causando um fervor automático nas bochechas da garota.

Devido a diferença de altura, ela precisou levantar a cabeça para poder observar seu rosto, o que pareceu o agradar, já que ele sorriu, e segurou delicadamente seu queixo "aproveite o resto da noite" sua voz grave a arrepia por inteiro, enquanto S/n observa o moreno sair do quarto.

...

Hongjoong mais uma vez se encarregou de toda a parte administrativa do encontro. Em apenas uma mensagem ele a informou tudo o que precisava saber: Lee Soohyuk, 37 anos, coreano, CEO, solteiro. Irá a encontrar no restaurante mais caro da cidade às 20 horas em ponto, e iria mandar um carro para a levar ao tal lugar.

E para variar, Kim a enviou exatamente a roupa que iria usar, porém dessa vez a caixa acompanhou perfumes, uma lingerie e um cartão com uma simples instrução: Nada de Álcool! o que a ofendeu um tanto, afinal não é por que ela tomou uma péssima decisão em uma noite, que ele conseguiria piorar a situação.

S/n então se arrumou em tempo perfeitamente cronometrado, passando todos os produtos possíveis da caixa, observando o modo como sua pele passou a brilhar mais uma vez. Hongjoong e sua mania por brilho! Finalmente ela coloca o vestido, mais um modelo longo e extremamente elegante, com tom creme suave, quase champanhe. Ele possui um design ombro a ombro, com mangas longas e justas que vão até as mãos, criando um efeito refinado e sensual ao mesmo tempo. Seu corpete é estruturado, com drapeados delicados que realçam seu busto e a cintura, moldando a silhueta de forma impecável. A saia é reta e ajustada até os quadris, fluindo suavemente até o chão com um caimento que alonga a figura. O tecido, leve e levemente acetinado, confere um brilho discreto e sofisticado.

Felizmente a morena ainda pode contar com a ajuda de Karina e Giselle que arrumaram seu cabelo, em nada muito fora do comum, apenas ondas elegantes e duradouras, fazendo S/n se sentir uma estrela de cinema de antigamente.

"Vai que ele tem fetishe na Monroe" Giselle comentou quando a amiga a contou sobre os produtos que lhe foram enviados. Ela ri, quando Karina rola os olhos antes de terminar de maquiar a amiga com um batom levemente vermelho.

Às 20 horas em ponto, o carro totalmente preto para a frente te dá sua porta, e S/n é escoltada até o veículo por Jeno e Jaemin que de modo cortês e gentil enviam através do motorista, que teoricamente passaria o recado para Soohyuk. O caminho foi rápido e silencioso, e uma vez no restaurante, o motorista a acompanha até a entrada do restaurante.

A reserva estava no nome do Soohyuk, e a garota nao pode deixar de se sentir um pacote sendo passada de mão em mão, uma vez aje agora era a gerente do restaurante que deveria a acompanhar até o homem que já a esperava. Conforme caminhava ela tentava não parecer tão deslumbrada com o lugar ou com o tipo de pessoa que jantava ali no momento.

Então a gerente para em frente a uma cortina vermelha, e após um sorriso gentil, ela a abre, e S/n perde o ar com a visão a sua frente: Lee Soohyuk sentado à mesa, vestindo um conjunto branco simples, mas que realçavam sua beleza, jóias douradas enfeitavam seus dedos, punhos e pescoço, e seu cabelo estava penteado para trás, meticulosamente despretensioso, como se ele mesmo tivesse o feito com as mãos. Ao fundo as luzes da cidade brilhavam, e o davam mais destaque.

"Boa noite!" O homem sorri gentil a ela, conforme ela adentrava no local. Ele tinha escolhido uma parte privativa com uma grande janela para a cidade. Se levantando ele segura a cadeira para que ela tomasse o lugar, e ela o fez. "Então, o que acha daqui?"

S/n ruboriza levemente, pensando em um modo educado de o dizer que ela é uma universitária pobre, e que se quisesse entrar ali teria que ser como funcionária, nunca cliente... mas ela sorri, e murmura que acha o lugar muito bom.

"Pensei em pedir um vinho para nós, mas achei melhor te esperar para saber o que prefere" Lee comenta, olhando ao cardápio de bebidas, e a morena se odeia por ter travado por alguns segundos, como uma idiota boquiaberta soltando o som mais patético do mundo "aaahh..."

O homem a olha, confuso, e ela sorri sem graça, se perguntando se deveria ou não contar a verdade, então tenta desvencilhar-se da ideia com um baixo "eu não sei se é uma boa ideia", mas Soohyuk não desiste fácil, e continuou insistindo, até sorrir erguendo uma sobrancelha "Ah! Hongjoong disse que não deveria beber, certo?"

"Bom, eu tenho uma excelente notícia para você, meu amor" Lee fecha o cardápio, a olha atentamente e apoia a cabeça em sua mão, que estava apoiada na mesa "eu lembro bem do que arrematei no leilão, mas não vou fazer nada se você decidir que não quer, mas se quiser seguir em frente, pode ter certeza que sou o cara perfeito para isso." Um sorriso brincalhão surge nos seus lábios, assim como um brilho chegou ao seu olhar "e você pode se dar o luxo de pelo menos uma taça de vinho"

"Eu posso falar alguma besteira" S/n comenta em tom de aviso, mas isso faz rir de verdade e dar de ombros "Tudo bem, pode escolher que te acompanho"

Com a garantia de que nada que ele não faria nada que ela não quisesse, a fez querer. Quantas vezes ela teria a chance de dormir com um homem bonito, cheiroso, educado, engraçado e rico? Provavelmente nem em sua próxima vida!

"Posso te perguntar, por que decidiu leiloar?" Apesar de estarem em um local privativo, S/n se sentiu agradecida por ele não falar em voz alta. "Não são todas as garotas que teriam essa coragem"

"Pois é, sempre foquei nos estudos, e acho que acabei focando de mais...quando percebi os caras da minha idade pareciam todos imaturos de mais, então continuei focando nos estudos"

E então os dois entraram em uma conversa sem fim sobre a faculdade da garota, e o trabalho dele. O vinho chegou junto a entrada, mas a conversa não parava de fluir, de modo leve e informal. Quando chegaram a metade do prato principal, S/n percebeu que eles estavam zombando de Hongjoong.

" Poso perguntar uma coisa?" S/n indaga em um breve momento de pausa entre as risadas. Lee a indica com a cabeça que prossiga, e ela o faz: "Quantas virgens você já arrematou nos leilões por aí?" As palavras saem sem filtro algum, e quando atingem Soohyuk, ele arregala os olhos chocado, a causando risinhos.

"Wow! Por essa eu não esperava... mas você me avisou sobre o vinho" ele brinca, a fazendo rir levemente. O ar entre os dois muda de jocoso para algo mais intenso, à arrepiando a coluna. O moreno então a puxa sua cadeira para mais perto da dele, e seus olhos caem sobre os lábios da garota, e quando ele fala sua voz é mais grave e sensual "Nenhuma. Eu estava prestes a sair quando você entrou, e até achei fofo alguém pensar que teriam alguma chance com alguém como você."

A voz da garota fica presa na garganta, e era irônico como ela nunca ficava sem palavras, mas ele conseguia facilmente a deixar se sentindo uma idiota. Uma das mãos de Lee vai até sua bochecha a acariciar, e ele leva seus lábios até o ouvido de S/n "posso considerar isso como um sinal verde?" Ela confirma com a cabeça, ainda sem conseguir proferir uma palavra, e é surpreendida com o lábio macio dele em sua pele logo abaixo da orelha. E então mais um, um pouco mais a baixo, e outro ao lado desse, e mais vários até ela perder a conta de quantos eram, e um som vergonhoso sair de seus lábios.

"Acha que pode esperar a sobremesa, querida?" Ele pergunta, se afastando um pouco dela.

"Sinceramente? Quero ser educada e tentando dizer que sim, mas também quero que continue o que acabou começar"

Lee Soohyuk sorri, e pede a conta, ordenando que a mesma venha rapidamente. S/n não consegue esconder o sorriso terminando sua taça de vinho, e mordendo o lábio para tentar parar de rir. O homem pega sua mão, e beija o dorso a olhando profundamente nos olhos, e começou a fazer uma nova trilha de beijos até seu pescoço. "Você sempre foi meio Casanova, assim?"

"Assim você fere meu ego, querida" Soohyuk responde com um beijo final em seu pescoço.

...

S/n queria prestar atenção no caminho até o hotel, mas Soohyuk falava coisas que para terceiros pareciam inocentes, mas que a provocavam intimamente; e então ela quis prestar atenção no hotel, mas o elevador chegou rapidamente, e Lee a prendendo na parede do elevador, ele tirou uma mecha de cabelo que caiu no rosto da garota; e então ela mal teve tempo de olhar para o quarto do hotel.

Assim que entrou, Soohyuk apenas trancou a porta, jogou a chave cartão em qualquer lugar, e puxou o corpo da garota para o seu, colando seu lábio com os dela, decidido.

S/N descobriu a diferença entre beijar um cara qualquer da faculdade, e beijar um homem experiente. Soohyuk a segurava com propriedade, uma mão na cintura, e a outra em seu queixo. Os lábios do moreno eram macios, e era ele quem dominava o beijo, enquanto a garota soltava alguns suspiros e tentava se firmar, enfiando as mãos kos cabelos arrumados dele. Eles estavam no meio da suíte, não que ela se importasse com o tamanho da suíte, por que os lábios de Lee estavam explorando seu pescoço, e onde ela tinha mais sensibilidade.

"Espera, eu preciso saber, você é 100% virgem?" Não só a pergunta fez S/n parar, mas a situação a fez ficar um pouco mais lenta, então o homem precisou explicar um pouco melhor sua dúvida: "você já fez alguma outra coisa?"

"Ah! Com outra pessoa? Não. Sozinha? Já" Soohyuk grune voltando a beijar a morena desesperado. Ele a pega no colo, indo em direção a cama, e a coloca sentada na mesma, se ajoelhando, e por conta da altura, ele ainda conseguia se mater praticamente no mesmo nível que ela.

"Vou te contar como vamos fazer" Lee começa a falar, ao mesmo tempo que tira o sapato da garota, mas sem desviar seu olhar dela "primeiro eu vou usar minha boca em você, mas vai continuar com esse vestido, por que eu gosto como ele parece apertado nos seus seios quando parece que perdeu o ar..." ele sorri subindo o tecido do vestido sobre as pernas da garota, até revelar suas coxas. "...E aí eu vou arrancar ele de você, e brincar mais um pouco com você, mas usando minhas mãos, por que aí vou te preparar ainda mais..." Soohyuk a auxiliou a se deitar com a cabeça nos travesseiros macios da cama, e sorriu conforme se sentou entre as pernas da garota, massageando a pele macia e perfumada "...e eu prometo que vou tentar me controlar para não te foder, e ir com calma, como você merece. Entendido?"

"S-sim" a morena gagueja arfando apenas com suas palavras e com a visão dele todo de branco entre suas pernas. "Você pode tirar sua camisa?" Ela pede, com a voz fraca, pegando o homem de surpresa mas o dando uma ideia brilhante: Lee a ajuda se sentar, e pegar as mãos delicadas da garota e levam até o botão da camisa.

"Acho que minha garota pode fazer isso, certo?" O apelido minha garota naquele tom baixo e grave, a sobrancelha erguida junto ao sorriso, quase a fizeram gemer, e mesmo com suas mãos tremendo, ela o fez. Cada centímetro exposto de pele era uma parte da sua sanidade que se esvaia. Obrigada por ser um completo gostoso!

Ele a deitou novamente e começou a fazer exatamente o que disse que faria, separando ainda mais as pernas da garota e levantando mais o vestido, sendo recebido pela renda vermelha que a cobria. Lee xinga baixo, mas guarda a calcinha no bolso, antes de deixar um selinho nos lábios e no topo descoberto dos seios de S/n.

Ajoelhado no colchão Soohyuk enrosca os braços na sua coxa, te prendendo no lugar, assim como sua respiração que fica presa no peito se perguntando o que vem a seguir. O moreno assopra um arzinho na parte íntima da garota, que tem um sobressalto com a sensação estranha, ele repete o ato novamente a observando com um sorriso de lado, se adorando não só com a situação como a visão que tinha da garota.

"Relaxa, meu amor" A voz grossa e baixa de Soohyuk a faz revirar os olhos, ppr que além de usar o tom e um apelido apelativo, o homem beijava sua pele da coxa, e da pélvis, a arrepiando da cabeça aos pés.

"Falar é fácil" ela murmura em partes como uma reclamação a demora, e em como ele não sabe como é o ter entre as pernas, querendo que faça alguma coisa logo.

Lee solta um risinho baixo, e mantendo contato visual com o rosto da garota ate finalmente comecar a toca-lá. No começo é lento. Um beijo único, de boca aberta, no seu clitóris, tão suave que a morena mal sente. Então ele chupa. Com força. A língua passando por você da maneira mais divina, porque ele queria passar a conhecer seu corpo melhor do que qualquer um, até ela mesma.

S/n ofega, levantando os quadris, mas as mãos do homem já estão lá, a prendendo no colchão com uma rigidez que faz seus dedos dos pés se curvarem.

S/n geme rolando os olhos, ambas as mãos agarrando os lençóis, e a coluna saindo do colchão, enquanto Soohyuk a devora. E quando ele adiciona um dedo — o desliza para dentro sem aviso enquanto sua língua desliza rápida e precisamente contra o clitóris da garota— S/n se arqueia ainda mais, gemendo tão alto que ecoa.

"Porra. Continue assim, meu amor." A garota se sente contrair em volta dele, e ele sorri contra sua pele. Soohyuk usa sua voz poderosa coagindo seu orgasmo. O que ela o faz, com um gemido alto e um estremecimento. Ele não para de a lamber, sentindo o gosto da garota, e se obrigando a parar, para não a estimular de mais.

Lee sente seu pau latejando ainda preso por toda a roupa, mas ele prometeu ser um cavalheiro e não apressar as coisas com a morena. Ele sorri se aproximando do rosto ruborizado dela, se apoiando nos cotovelos com o braço próximo ao rosto dela.

A garota abre os olhos, e sorri como se flutuasse, e essa era exatamente a sensação que tinha, que estava voando com um anjo demoníaco que era Lee Soohyuk. O homem passa delicadamente os dedos por suas bochechas enquanto ela lentamente voltava a si, e ela o sentiu passar um dos dedos por seu lábio, antes de deixar um beijo casto.

"No seu tempo, meu amor..." ele murmura, beijando novamente seu pescoço mas dessa vez descendo por seu colo, finalmente a livrando do vestido, que começava a incomodar.

"Se continuar me chamando assim, vou acreditar" S/n brinca ouvindo um sorrisinho dele, que se senta e a olha firme nos olhos antes de responder: "sem problemas, meu amor"

Soohyuk desliza o vestido pelas pernas da morena, e logo se livra do sutiã também rendado e vermelho. Ele beija sua barriga, lentamente subindo em direção aos seios da garota, que sobem e descem conforme ela tenta respirar. Ele percebe que S/n continua a segurar firme nos lençóis da cama, e senta pegando ambas as mãos. Ele beija seus dedos e os coloca em diferentes partes do seu corpo.

"Enquanto eu estiver a tocando, quero que me toque também" ao falar, vê a garota frisar as sobrancelhas e então completa rapidamente "Como quiser! Pode me apertar, pode me acariciar, e porra, por favor, me arranha!" Ele rosna baixo, e a sente mover os dedos por sua pele, e sorri "Boa garota!"

Soohyuk da atenção aos seios da garota, que se tornavam cada vez mais sensíveis, e seus dedos se esgueiram para dentro da garota, a surpreendendo. Seus dedos ágeis testam a entrada da garota, que o sugava com vigor. Ele a via gemer e rolar os olhos, enquanto ele tentava a preparar como podia, mas estava quase enlouquecendo.

"Desculpa meu amor, mas preciso estar dentro de você agora!" Lee se livra das calças, sendo observado atentamente pelos olhos curiosos da garota. Soohyuk não sentiu vergonha nenhuma quando os dois perceberam a parte umida de pré gozo na cueca branca, que é descartada em um lugar qualquer. O moreno pega uma camisinha na cabeceira ao lado da cama, sentindo os olhos atentos da sua garota na cama.

"Quer me tocar, meu amor?" Ele indaga se sentando na cama mais uma vez, hesitando ela confirma com a cabeça se sentando no colchão. Mais uma vez o moreno beija seus dedos antes de levar as mãos macias da garota até seu membro. Ele reprime um gemido quando sente a garota o segurar firme, arriscando um vai e vem lento, mordiscando os lábios.

"Você tá quente..." ela comenta o olhando, e o encontrando sorrindo ladino. Soohyuk tira delicadamente a mão dela, e a faz deitar novamente com a cabeça nos travesseiros.

" Isso é tesão por você, meu amor!"

Lee Soohyuk então se posiciona no meio das pernas da garota, e se apoia mais uma vez por cima dela, querendo absorver suas reações conforme ele a penetra pela primeira vez. Quando ele se introduz, a vê fechar os olhos, e ele para. Mais continua mais um pouco e a vê juntar as sobrancelhas, mas não sabe se em agonia ou prazer.

"Preciso que fale comigo meu amor, estou prestes a te meter, se não me disser o que quer" ele pede, voz rouca, claramente se segurando a pouca sanidade que lhe resta, conforme sente as paredes apertadas e úmidas da garota o apertarem vigorosamente.

"Pode continuar, quero você dentro" ela geme, mordendo o lábio, e ele o faz, mas ainda um pouco hesitante. Quando está completamente dentro de S/n, ambas as respirações ficam mais rápidas, e os dois ainda mais sensíveis a tudo, e Soohyuk jura que é a primeira vez que sente isso com alguém.

"Meu amor, eu posso me mexer agora?" Lee indaga beijando o pescoço da garota, que geme, e confirma.

Ele o faz. De novo. De novo. E de novo.

A boca do moreno paira perto dos lábios da garota, capturando cada suspiro, cada gemido, cada súplica silenciosa, desesperada e sussurrada do seu nome saindo dos seus lábios.

"Porra, meu amor! Pensei a noite toda nisso", ele sussurra contra seus lábios. "Em tirar esse vestido de você. Em fazer você se contorcer. Em ouvir você fazer todos aqueles barulhos lindos para mim. Em como voce aceitaria tudo o que eu te desse como uma boa garota."

S/n se contrai novamente com as palavras dele, e ele sente isso. Grunindo e aumentando a velocidade dos seus movimentos. Ele a sente se contrair mais uma vez, e suas mãos delicadas o arranhar os ombros, o puxando para mais perto. Soohyuk passa a incentivar a gozar, sentindo como ela estava cada vez mais perto.

"Porra. Meu amor. Continua, me aperta" ele ordenava desordenado, sem saber exatamente o que queria, além de o seu orgasmo, e então o dele.

Com seus movimentos ritmados, e seus gemidos cada vez mais vagorosos, mas nunca o volume, o que o enchia de orgulho, mas ele estava prestes a explodir, com todo estímulo. Soohyuk sentia-se como se tivesse comido algo afrodisíaco, mas era tudo S/n. A beleza, o humor, a língua afiada e ao mesmo tempo inocente, o perfume...

Ele observava enquanto a garota se contorcia abaixo dele, as unhas o puxando para mais perto, sentindo os músculos das costas trabalharem, vê o momento em que ela perde o ar quando ele a penetra de um forma mais firme, e ela geme mais alto rolando os olhos. E ela não parecia se cansar nenhum pouco, enquanto ele parecia que iria perder a sanidade a qualquer momento.

"Assim...N-não para...N-não...por favor..." a voz da garota saiu rouca, com os olhos brilhando em uma carinha pedinte, e ele gruniu enfiando o rosto no pescoço dela.

Soohyuk deixa beijos onde alcançava, mordiscando a pele, e mantendo o ritmo firme, até ouvir uma risadinha engasgada da garota, e levanta sua cabeça parando curioso. S/n sorri passando a mão nos cabelos dele, segurando os mesmos, antes de explicar que ela gostou de ver a cama batendo na parede, e terminar puxando os fios dele.

O moreno sorri malicioso, voltando à penetrar mais vigoroso, fazendo com que no quarto se ouvisse apenas os gemidos dos dois, e o som de pele se batendo. "Porra! Você é tão perfeita. Minha garota perfeita." A voz do homem sai rouca em meio aos sons, ao que ela impensadamente respondeu repetindo como um doce eco "Sua. Só sua."

A garota começa a sentir seu corpo todo tensionar. Os dedos dos pés começam a se contorcer, a voz sumiu da garganta assim como o ar, além da sensação no ventre, que parecia se contorcer e se enrolar cada vez mais forte. Ela passou a ter a sensação que Lee estava em todo o lugar, o perfume caro em seu nariz, os lábios por toda sua pele, desde seu pescoço até nos seios, e as mãos dele, que passavam ppr todo seu corpo, mas que agora estavam em seu clitóris, a estimulando.

"Está quase lá meu amor..." ele murmura na boca dela, mesmo qus os olhos castanhos estivessem fechados. "Goza pra mim meu amor..."

S/n não saberia dizer se foram os dedos, o membro ou a voz dele, mas ela sentiu O nó no seu estômago se romper, seu corpo estremeceu violentamente enquanto se desfazia em torno dele. Soohyuk gemeu ainda mais alto e sonoro, estocando mais algumas vezes antes de se derramar no corpo da garota, a testa pressionada contra a dela e ambas as respirações ofegantes.

O silêncio preenche o quarto enquanto o casal se deita em baixo das cobertas se recuperando. Soohyuk faz carinho nos cabelos da garota, que estava de olhos fechados tentando compreender tudo o que se passou. Ela finalmente não era mais virgem, graças ao homem mais rico e gostoso que já viu na vida. E o sexo? Era incrível! Porém o que ela não sabia era que esse mesmo homem estava tentando não enlouquecer preocupado pensando que ela tinha se arrependido.

"Você está bem?" Ele indaga com a voz calma, a vendo abrir lentamente os olhos, o surpreendo com o brilho ali.

"Acho que nunca estive tão bem assim" ela sorri e Lee fica aliviado. Ele parecia não conseguir tirar as mãos, ou os lábios dela, fazendo carinho e beijando seus dedos, suas mãos, seus braços, seu pescoço e de volta aos lábios macios da garota.

"Me diz o que está pensando" Soohyuk pergunta, mais uma vez, odiando como a garota que parecia não conseguir ficar quieta de repente estava tão calada.

"Que não quero que essa noite acaba, e eu ter que voltar pra minha vida como era antes" a morena suspira, mas suas sobrancelhas se juntam quando escutam o sorriso dele "que bom que nosso check out do hotel é só amanhã a noite..." Soohyuk a mordisca, tranquilizando o clima antes de continuar "depois disso, a gente vê"

"Quer dizer que vamos continuar a nos ver?" Ela se senta na cama puxando o lençol para se sentir menos exposta, e Lee adorou ver a animação de volta ao seu olhar novamente. Intimamente ele não queria ter ido ao leilão, e depois decidiu que não ia fazer nada com ela, mas conversou com ela, tudo mudou, e agora ele não tinha certeza se essa noite seria a única.

"Quero dizer que vou preparar um banho para os dois, pedir uma comida do hotel, e fazer o que quiser...segunda, vai ser outra coisa, meu amor"

A garota sorri, travessa, e beija o homem, faminta. "Que bom que disse isso, mas acho que deveria ter cuidado com o que diz, Sr. Lee..." a morena comenta, usando um tom sedutor para o chamar, o que o fez se arrepiar. As mãos da garota foram para a nuca dele, onde ela começou a brincar com o cabelo dele "por que eu acho que vou precisar não só de mais prática com sexo, como...desenvolver outras habilidades"

S/n finalmente deixou sua mão passar pelo peitoral desnudo e firme, ele sentiu orgulho na forma como ela o olhava, faminta, e incitou que ela continuasse o que começou.

"Ah, sabe...eu acho que você podia me ensinar umas coisas...eu não sei fazer um boquete, não sei masturbar um homem, sem contar em todas as outras posições..." Lee morde o próprio lábio, ouvindo aquilo.

"Ah, claro! Por que você não pode saber a sensação de apenas uma, não é?"

"Exato! E também tem as fantasias! A gente pode começar com algumas das suas, eu posso pensar em algumas também..."

Os dois caem na risada, as unhas da garota desenhando o abdomem alheio. Lee estava meio deitado, apoiado em seu braço, e a garota muito próxima, o que o deu uma ideia. Soohyuk pega a sua mão macia, e sorri contra ela, a beijando.

"Bom, então eu acho que posso te ensinar uma coisinha antes do banho" a morena morde o próprio lábio, vendo o mais velho passar sua mão por seu abdômen levando até o seu membro semi ereto. Ele sorri a desafiando a se recolher, mas ela o segura e começa a seguir as instruções que ele a dá, já rolando os olhos. Soohyuk enfia uma de suas grandes mãos na nuca da garota e em um puxão que a faz gemer cola ambos os lábios, mas antes de a beijar a promete:

"E depois vou te mostrar como se fode, meu amor."

[yakuly]

Leilão

LeeSoohyuk!CEO x Leitora!Universitária

⤿extra cast: Jeno, Jisung, Jaemin, Haechan, Chenle, Renjun (NCT Dream); Karina, Giselle (Aespa); Hongjoong, Yeosang, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yunho (Ateez)

Palavras: 3.791

Resumo: Ao acordar de uma noite de bebedeira com os amigos, S/n acorda com uma ressaca e a descoberta inesperada de que contratou os serviços de um leiloeiro. O bem a ser leiloado? Sua virgindade.

Avisos: Menção ao sexo; linguagem imprópria; Menção a violência física (ameaçou de tapa entre amigos, não se preocupem!); mínima aparição do Soohyuk, mas ele vem na parte dois, PROMETO! Apesar de não ter cenas gráficas de sexo, eu prefiro que menores de idade não leiam, então por favor, bom senso amorecas!

💌: Feliz dia dos pais para o maior Daddy da Coreia! Essa é a parte 1, e se tudo der certo, amanhã posto a segunda parte, então seremos otimistas (até por que é aí a ação realmente acontece he he) me digam o que acham, e eu dou um beijinho na testa de vocês 💋

🥂 Parte 2

Se S/n pudesse descrever a própria vida, e todos os seus processos de tomadas de decisões, palavras como "estável" e "sólidas" poderiam facilmente ser usadas, e não seriam mentiras ou hipérboles.

Mas mesmo uma jovem inteligente e calma como ela precisa ter seu momento de insanidade...e esse momento chega regado de álcool em um barzinho ajeitado e com seus amigos, para comemorar o fim de um semestre cansativo na faculdade.

Chenle, Jisung e Karina não paravam de falar sobre suas mil aventuras sexuais, ou que fizeram ficar em seu canto calado, remoendo sua falta de experiência não só na parte do sexo, mas com pessoas no geral. É como ela mesma dizia: "Homens me dão preguiça e mulheres me dão medo". E então lá está ela, uma garota de vinte e poucos anos, no terceiro semestre da faculdade, virgem.

Virgem. E sozinha.

Mas até tal ponto da noite, as coisas estavam normais, seus amigos continuaram a se vangloriar, enquanto ela continuava a ruminar sua triste situação, com mais e mais copos de álcool, até que o resto da noite se tornou apenas um borrão, e você acordou na tarde seguinte com a luz do sol batendo nos olhos.

Como uma bêbada semiprofissional, fez o que sabia que deveria ser feito para diminuir os efeitos colaterais de uma noite inconsequente: uma aspirina com café extra forte, e algumas torradas com muitos ovos mexidos.

Quando pega seu celular para ver as notícias do dia, percebe que além de ter ganhado fotos estranhas e comprometedoras suas e de seus amigos, aparentemente ela tinha conversado com um contato diferente. Pra começar, ela tinha salvado o tal número como "MOSSO QUE VAI SALVAR MINJA VIDA 💋💥💯" com todos os emogis e erros. S/n não sabia o que poderia ser, mas já sentia uma dor de cabeça começar a despontar na lateral do crânio. O nome, os erros ortográficos e os emogis indicavam que ela já não estava mais sã, e o que quer que esse tal salvador tenha feito, a S/n do presente dúvida que seja realmente algum tipo de salvação.

A garota senta no sofá, tentando reunir coragem para abrir a tal conversa, já que tem um péssimo pressentimento sobre o que pode encontrar, então mais um refil de café depois, ela decide começar pela foto de perfil do contato, mas não encontrou nada muito promissor, apenas o nome Le Cygne Noir em letras elegantes e cursiva, e logo abaixo os dizeres:"O luxo dança entre o mistério e o desejo."

Quando a curiosidade a venceu, S/n finalmente abriu a conversa...

S/n: OIIIIII Moço do bar!!!!!

S/n: vOce disse que ia me ajudar!! QueRO SUA AJUDA!

Le Cygne Noir: 🌒 Você acaba de cruzar os portões da Le Cygne Noir — onde o Luxo dança entre o mistério e o desejo. Sua presença foi notada!

Em breve, um de nossos curadores lhe responderá.

Enquanto isso, diga-nos…

— Busca por uma peça que o escolheu em sonho?

— Deseja libertar um artefato antigo de sua solidão?

— Ou apenas observa, silenciosamente, o que jaz nas sombras?

S/N: MOCO EI JA FALEI! EU QUERO LEIOLQR!

Le Cygne Noir: Olá, boa noite! Aqui é o Kim Hongjoong, nós conversamos no bar, mas confesso que não pensei que entraria em contato tão rápido...

Le Cygne Noir: a senhorita tem certeza da sua decisão? Posso te enviar os documentos por e-mail para assinar agora mesmo.

S/N: VAI MOSSO ME MANDA LOGO!

S/N: EU TO DESESPERADA! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Le Cygne Noir: Certo, te enviei a documentação por e-mail, preciso apenas que escreva o que irá leiloar, sua assinatura e então nos acertamos o pagamento de contrato da sua contratação.

E claro, mesmo querendo muito ler o resto da conversa, S/n abriu seu e-mail e felizmente encontra fácil a tal documentação, mas a garota não esperava por nada do que leu na tal documentação.

Seu grito da sala fez surgir um por um de seus amigos na sala de estar onde ela estava. Confusos pelo susto, por acabarem de acordar, e por conta do álcool, seus amigos a encaram andar de um lado pro outro do cômodo.

"O que aconteceu?" Karina e Giselle são as primeiras a perguntar. A garota as olha, a respiração rápida, mão na cabeça e olhos arregalados.

"Euvendiminhavirgindade" as palavras saem vomitadas, e como todos a olham ainda mais confusos, ela toma um ar e tenta falar mais lentamente: "eu acho que...vendi minha virgindade"

Silêncio...

...Silêncio...

...Silêncio...

Até que Chenle irrompe em uma gargalhada alta e maligna enquanto se joga no sofá. Alguns vão pra cozinha se servir de qualquer coisa enquanto as meninas tentam a acalmar e entender melhor a situação com a amiga, que conta tudo o que leu até ali.

"Mas como você conseguiu o número desse cara?" Foi uma das perguntas que surgiram, e "como a ideia de vender sua virgindade surgiu, em primeiro lugar?" E é assim que o grupo tenta remontar a noite anterior, com pouquíssimo detalhes, e pra atrapalhar, alguns estavam longe quando aconteceu – como Jaemin que era o único sóbrio da noite, mas tentava salvar Jeno de uma briga por uma garota qualquer que ele jurava ser a Jessica Alba.

"Aí meu Deus!" S/n arfa quando sua memória lhe presenteia com um fragmento interessante da noite: chenle é quem surge com o tal Hongjoong anunciando ser o cara mais incrível do mundo, por que ele era dono de um leilão, e que eles poderiam vender qualquer coisa, e então a voz esganiçada de Haechan surge no pé do seu ouvido "VOCÊ PODIA VENDER A SUA VIRGINDADE!"

"A culpa é sua seu idiota!" A garota grita ao contar a memória, já indo atrás do garoto, que se afugenta atrás de Jaemin e Jeno "Eu VOU TE MATAR!"

Porém felizmente para o moreno suas amigas conseguem te segurar, e o mantém salvo. Renjun que havia pego o seu celular e estava lendo toda a conversa, se manifesta, com novas informações, que preferia não saber de jeito nenhum...

"Aparentemente você contratou o serviço de leilão deles, para vender sua Virgindade, e olha só...acho que você deixou sua autoestima falar bem alto aqui." Ele diz, fazendo uma pausa dramática que só serviu pra te irritar mais até ele continuar, com um brilho estranho no olhar "acontece que tem uma multa de quebra de contrato, e a menos que você tenha cem milhões de reais...meu conselho é que faça esse leilão".

Você não sabe se suas recém descobertas sobre noite passada, as novas informações sobre suas peripécias, os ovos ou a bebedeira, mas precisou sair correndo para o banheiro vomitar. Felizmente seus amigos são incríveis, e traçam um plano para te ajudar: no plano A, Jaemin, Giselle e Renjun te acompanham no escritório para tentar te livrar da situação, enquanto no plano B, Chenle, Jeno, e Karina ficam em casa para limpar tudo, e encontrar identidades falsas para Haechan, caso nada de certo com o plano A.

...

O escritório da Le Cygne Noir é tão elegante quanto sua foto de contato, vidro, mármore em cores clara e sóbrias, e todo o tipo de pintura, arte e livros preenchem o lugar.

O pequeno grupo é relacionado por uma jovem garota de sorriso educado, coque e uniformes impecáveis. Jaemin toma a frente enquanto S/n tenta não surtar e invadir o lugar. Tudo ali era elegante de mais, grandioso de mais, e ela estava começando a achar tudo demorado de mais também.

"Desculpe, mas sem uma hora marcada não posso deixa-los entrar." A tal garota responde, e S/n grune, e talvez ao falar com ela pode ter se deixado levar um pouco de mais.

"Pelo amor de Deus moça! Eu só preciso falar com Hongjoong! Vai ser rápido, ele nem precisa me olhar na cara direito!..." a menina está no meio do seu monólogo suplicante, quando uma figura surge e ela imediatamente se cala, o observando. Kim Hongjoong.

"E por que eu não olharia uma beldade dessas?" O loiro diz sorrindo. Hongjoong tem mais aura que altura, o que confunde bastante o grupo. Ele é um homem bonito, usando alta alfaiataria, joias e acessórios por todo lugar. "Me acompanhem, por favor"

A sala de Hongjoong é tão chamativa quanto ele. Paredes altas, grande mesa de vidro, revistas em uma outra mesa de vidro, um grande sofá roxo que estranhamente combinava com tudo, e um grande quadro abstrato atrás de sua cadeira. Ele é o tipo de homem que tem um sorriso lindo, mas claramente perigoso, como o Gato Cheshire de Alice, e ele sabia. Ver aquele sorriso brilhante trouxe arrepios a espinha da garota.

"Deixa eu ver se entendi, a senhorita fez a contratação do nosso leilão, mas se arrependeu e agora quer cancelar o contrato, mas sem o pagamento da multa..."

"Eu sei que parece absurdo, mas por favor entenda, eu estava bêbada, triste, confusa e o idiota do meu amigo ficou falando...foi tudo no calor do momento!"

É impressionante o quanto uma pessoa pode descobrir sobre si, só hoje S/n descobriu que nunca mais vai beber, e que não é boa de mais para se humilhar pedindo um favor.

"Tudo bem, eu entendo" ele diz, e você já consegue sentir o peso do mundo saindo de seus ombros, mas o homem bonito resolve continuar "mas não posso fazer isso". Kim sorri se levantando da cadeira e se sentando em sua própria mesa a sua frente, e ela sente Jaemin se movimentar para mais perto. "Vou te explicar uma coisa sobre minha função, eu procuro preciosidades para serem leiloadas. E essas preciosidades são expostas e vendidas para a elite da elite. E modéstia a parte, eu sou muito bom no que faço! Diferente do que você está pensando agora, eu tenho feeling que pode mudar sua vida docinho, com esse rostinho, sua educação quando sóbria, e claro, sua virgindade, você pode ficar milionária!" O loiro se aproxima mais da garota, e delicadamente passa seu dedo indicador pela bochecha de S/n, e ela sabe que deveria sentir medo, mas ela se sente hipnotizada e não se afasta.

"E eu já tenho a data perfeita, para a noite perfeita, então me deixe fazer minha mágica docinho"

...

Durante uma semana, S/n ainda tentava digerir a história toda. Seus amigos a ajudavam bastante, até fazendo algumas piadinhas de vez em quando – menos Haechan, que sempre que comentava algo precisava se esconder atrás de outro alguém –, e a constante presença de Hongjoong por algum motivo a fazia se sentir mais segura com tudo.

O rapaz à enviava mensagens todos os dias, praticamente o tempo todo: ele queria saber se estava se alimentando corretamente, se estava se hidratando, que curso faz da faculdade, seus Hobbies e interesses, e ele deixou de a chamar de "docinho" para começar a usar "preciosa"; e como se não fosse suficiente, o loiro a fez comparecer a aulas de etiquetas, a mini aulas de idiomas, e provas de vestidos que ela nunca podia palpitar ou mesmo ver.

Nem S/n ou seus amigos sabiam exatamente o que Kim estava planejando, mas sabiam que não seria uma noite simples. Karina e Giselle foram atrás de seu perfil em todas as redes sociais, e sem surpreender ninguém, viram o quão luxuosa é a vida do homem, Renjun seu amado amigo estagiário de direito tentou encontrar mesmo uma mínima brecha no contrato, mas agora quer fazer estágio na Le Cygne Noir, Jeno e Jaemin eram os que mais conseguiam a animar (Haechan e Chenle ainda a temiam, mas eram presenças constantes tentando fazer com que seus dias se tornem normais.

Na sexta feira que antecedeu o evento, o grupo recebeu em sua casa junto aos convites, caixas pretas com laços dourados. Hongjoong enviou a todos roupas para aproveitarem a noite junto a amiga.

"Meu Deus! Será que ele precisa de um estagiário novo?" Renjun tinha comentado olhando a qualidade não só do seu tuxedo, mas das caixas e os laços também "Será que ele precisa de um filho?" Haechan pergunta aparecendo na sala já vestido, e S/n escuta uma de suas amigas pensar alto ao seu lado "será que ele precisa de uma concubina?"

Mas a garota não pôde deixar de se sentir estranha pelo fato de seu vestido não ter chegado, e seu convite ser diferenciado. Enquanto todos eram pode papel preto com letras de cor dourada, e um anexo seguindo os mesmos padrões, o seu era tão dourado que parecia brilhar em suas mãos, e continha pequenos dizeres no final do papel "convite meramente ilustrativo". Mais tarde, Kim Hongjoong à informou que ele o fez especialmente para que ela guardasse e não se esquecer de nada até ali. Não que ela precisasse de um convite brilhante para isso.

O seu agora empresário a pediu que fosse para o local do evento muitas horas antes para que se arrumasse lá, e felizmente concedeu a presença de suas amigas.

Tal lugar parecia um Palácio. Por fora era repleto de Torres pontiagudas, e um jardim frontal com os arbustos formando desenhos de caracóis. Suas amigas não paravam de arfar e soltar gritinhos ao seu lado, enquanto ela tentava apenas não desmaiar logo do lado de fora. O interior possuía paredes altas decoradas com pinturas, e o que parecia ouro de verdade, e diversas esculturas que o grupo temia olhar de longe e quebrar.

"Bom dia! Sou Yeosang, e o Sr. Kim me pediu para os acompanhar!" Um rapaz não muito alto com a voz baixa surgiu no campo de vista de todos. Se Hongjoong era bonito, esse cara parece uma pintura viva. Ele comentou que estavam preparando o salão, e ao anoitecer todos os convidados começariam à chegar. Os meninos receberam um quarto ao lado do destinado às meninas, o que fez Haechan começar a reclamar instantaneamente, até irritar Yeosang que o mostrou o anexo entre os quartos murmurando alguma coisa sobre "não receber o suficiente para isso".

S/n foi instruída a não sair do quarto até as ordens de Hongjoong, o que significa que após horas sendo arrumada por mãos estranhas teria que passar mais algumas horas presa ali. Conforme era massageada, maquiada, perfumada, a equipe do loiro sempre passava para a ver, e ela descobriu que todos eram bem legais, até. Yunho foi encarregado de levar o vestido até sua dona, que assim como seus amigos arfaram com a visão final do vestido pela primeira vez. A luz parecia reluzir de dentro da caixa, mas foi quando finalmente o vestiu que começou a cair em si sobre a situação.

O vestido é um modelo longo e deslumbrante em dourado metálico, com efeito cintilante que reflete a luz como ouro líquido. O tecido fluido e acetinado moldou-se perfeitamente ao corpo de S/n valorizando sua silhueta com um caimento justo e elegante. As alças finas e o decote em “V” acrescentam delicadeza, enquanto a capa translúcida, presa nos ombros estendendo-se até o chão, o que criou um movimento etéreo, como se a figura fosse envolta por uma aura luminosa.

Uma máscara o complementa a produção com requinte e mistério. Feita em estrutura dourada com arabescos rendados, é inteiramente cravejada de pedrarias brilhantes que refletem a luz, harmonizando-se perfeitamente com o brilho do vestido. Um adorno lateral com pedras maiores, lembrando uma coroa floral, e uma pena clara e delicada acrescentam um toque dramático e elegante. Presa por fita de cetim branca, a permitindo manter o conforto sem perder a sofisticação planejada para a noite.

...

S/n foi obrigada a se manter no quarto conforme a noite acontecia no salão principal. Mas felizmente ela tinha cavaleiros do Apocalipse ao seu lado, que sempre que podiam a levavam comidinhas, e um pouco de champanhe, e até se alternavam para ficar com ela.

"Como está se sentindo?" Giselle que a fazia companhia no momento pergunta observando a amiga e sua cara de tédio sem a máscara.

"Um pouco nervosa" a morena encolhe os ombros, tentando nao esfregar os braços, uma vez que as maquiadores a tinham coberto de brilho "não gosto muito da ideia de ficar aqui em cima sem ver ninguém...e se o cara que...que..." ela não sabia muito bem como denominar aquela parte do leilão, então só gesticulou com um complemento "Ah! você sabe! E se ele for um escroto? E se for...feio?"

A garota de cabelos rosa ri da maior preocupação da amiga, mas a tranquiliza: "São todos extremamente gatos, com isso não precisa se preocupar! E além do mais, acho que o pelo jeito que o Hongjoong anda te tratando, ele ia garantir que não ia ter um tribufu pra te comprar"

S/n sabia que ela estava certa, mas não conseguiu deixar de fazer careta com aquilo. E apesar das ordens de Kim de que ela não deveria beber, o champanhe de Giselle estava uma delicia. Karina quando ficou lá a indagou sobre como ela se sentia em perder a virgindade.

"Não é como eu imaginei, mas também nunca me importei muito com todo esse tabu" da de ombros, mais tranquila. Graças a Deus o álcool existe! "Sinceramente essa altura do campeonato eu só espero que sele gato, gostoso e que saiba o que está fazendo!" Resmunga, fazendo um brinde com a amiga. Alguma coisa estava a dizendo que poderia confiar no gosto de Hongjoong, afinal toda a equipe dele era de tirar o fôlego.

...

Finalmente Seonghwa bate na porta do quarto, quando ela já estava sozinho a um tempinho. O loiro a ajudou a colocar a máscara, sorrindo para ela "Você sabe que é o bem mais caro da noite, certo?" Ele questionou com um sorrisinho de lado.

"Fico lisonjeada. Alguma chance de você ou um dos seus amigos dar um lance?" S/n sorri brincando, mas nem tanto.

"Infelizmente não podemos, mas assim que tudo acabar, pode me procurar quando quiser, querida!"

Na ponta da escada, a morena já conseguia ver a multidão no salão, e precisou de muito esforço para não voltar correndo para o quarto e pular da janela. Felizmente Seonghwa estava do seu lado, e ela pode fincar suas unhas decoradas no braço dele, enquanto tentava não cair da escada. O rapaz sibila com a dor, mas deixa passar, com um comentário engraçadinho.

Os dois tiveram que passar por um mar de pessoas altas e bem vestidas, todos de olho apenas na garota. Enquanto tentava não surtar com tanta atenção em cima dela, S/n conseguiu ver um grupo tocando música clássica, seus amigos a observando e incentivando, e finalmente Hongjoong com um sorriso presunçoso no rosto. Quando finalmente chegou ao seu lado, Seonghwa tirou a capa das suas costas, o que a fez desejar que não o fizesse.

A garota se recorda das aulas de etiqueta e sorri, posando ao lado de Hongjoong, enquanto flashes fortes de câmeras praticamente a cegam. Kim começa a falar em um microfone que ainda não tinha visto.

"Senhoras e senhores, lhes apresento o bem mais valioso da noite..." o salão ficou em completo silêncio, nem os instrumentistas tocavam mais. S/n decidiu que seria de bom tom manter um sorriso neutro no rosto, enquanto fingia prestar atenção ao que o loiro falava. "Essa é a nossa pérola da noite. Jovem de 24 anos, estudante universitária, brilhante, educada, elegante...essa noite, senhoras e senhores, o que será leiloado, será a sua virgindade!"

Se antes o silêncio já tomava conta do local, agora ele se tornou praticamente palpável, e S/n interpretou esse silêncio como um péssimo sinal e uma ideia horrível, mas Hongjoong sabia, que efeito de dramatização, afinal, ele era feito daquilo.

"E agora nós descobriremos quem será o sortudo...ou sortuda a arrematar tal prêmio essa noite!"

Com três batidas com um martelinho escondido. Ele mesmo conduziu o leilão, com o mesmo sorriso de antes, e pensando bem, a garota não conseguiu não o associar com a versão mais espalhafatosa do Rumpelstiltskin. Com surpresa ela viu homens bonitos – e mulher bonitas também – começarem a dar lances. Ela não sabia o que estava a assustando mais, o fato de pessoas estarem realmente interessadas na sua virgindade, ou a facilidade e rapidez que os lances subiam. Aquelas pessoas estavam gastando milhões como se estivessem dando balas pra crianças!

O último lance que ela conseguiu compreender foi o de um homem loiro repleto de tatuagens na fila da frente, mas o modo como ele a olhava, não a agradou nenhum pouco.

"100 mil!" Ele disse, coçando o queixo. S/n engole em seco rezando para que a máscara conseguisse esconder o pânico em seu olhar, mas pelo menos para seus amigos ficou claro, porém eles não sabiam o que fazer, já vez que não podiam bater os lances, uma vez que não teriam o dinheiro para tal.

"150 mil!" Uma voz grossa ecoou ao fundo do salão, mas ela não conseguiu ver quem era, então apenas torceu para que fosse alguém que não a desse vontade de fugir.

"200 mil!" O loiro lança, mas a mesma voz grossa surge batendo sua oferta. O tal homem não gosta nada da atitude e aumenta ainda mais o lance, chocando S/n em muitos níveis. "500 mil!" O tal homem loiro praticamente grita, sem paciência.

Silêncio.

A falta de lances faz o coração de S/n para por alguns segundos antes de disparar em extrema velocidade. Hongjoong começa a contagem final "Doule 1!" Desespero toma conta do corpo da garota, e ela não consegue disfarçar, dando um passo para trás, como se estivesse pronta para correr a qualquer minuto "Doule 2!" ela se aproxima de Kim, e no momento em que ia o implorar parar podar fim à aquilo tudo, uma voz a irrompeu antes que precisasse:

"5 milhões!"

Finalmente ela pode ver quem competia por sua...honra. O homem era alto, diferente dos outros, ele vestia um conjunto moderno e minimalista em preto. Tinha um blazer preto, abotoado apenas na parte inferior, revelando parte do peito — onde se destacou um colar prateado robusto e uma tira preta horizontal, e o seu cabelo casualmente penteado para trás. Ele parou a frente de todos, brevemente olhando o tal homem dos lances, com um sorriso vencedor, mas não se demorou muito, pois logo ele estava olhando para S/n. Ele não a mediu como o outro, manteve as mãos nos bolsos e sorriu. Apenas isso. E se pudesse, ela se trancaria no quarto como ele agora mesmo se pudesse.

Hongjoong fez a contagem final rapidamente, e a virgindade de S/n foi vendida para o tal homem gato. Agora ela só precisava trancar com o tal homem gato...

[yakuly]

Coisas inéditas estão vindo por aqui nesse perfil...como uma escrita com um ator gostoso que nunca escrevi antes 🙂‍↕️

Talvez um dia eu vença a batalha contra títulos monossilábicos e tediosos 😤, mas infelizmente não será essa noite

[yakuly]

Acabei de ler o primeiro livro da trilogia de "Caraval", e também tô assistindo "Viúva negra" agora, então há pedido de 0 pessoas, 0 vezes, deixarei aqui conceitos, coisas e tal que gostaria de explorar na escrita, e os motivos:

• "Viúvas Negras"

Começando com o que vou lembrar mais claramente agora. O treinamento militar melhor que qualquer exército, ao mesmo tempo as assassinas sendo bailarinas, por que todo mundo sabe da semelhança... complicações familiares, complicações políticas, personas complexas... as espiãs, elas tem livre árbitro? Elas foram quimicamente induzidas a tudo? Pode alguma delas realmente gostar de ser uma assassina, e ver sua posição como um propósito? São todas mocinhas? E se uma delas for vilã?... gente tem tanta coisa pra explorar aqui, misericórdia! (Mas amo muito, parabéns Marvel ❤️)

• "Circo"

Claro que por conta do livro, também estou com isso na cabeça 🤷‍♀️... o legal do circo é que ele pode ser um universo dentro de si, sabe? O mundo pode até existir lá fora, mas se assim como no "Caraval" você conseguir prender os personagens lá dentro, é possível que ele seja um universo por si só; Da pra usar magia; da pra explorar personagens específicos, como um mágico (e magia de verdade) as dançarinas, e claro os palhaços (que eu não faria, por que tenho pavor deles, mas beleza); sem contar a quantidade de arquétipos que dá pra usar dentro dele, enfim, um prato cheio que eu nem sei se saberia por onde começar.

• "Ballet"

Um fato sobre mim é que sou bailarina não profissional, e amo um clichê de ballet! Principalmente ligado ao "lago dos cisnes", me perdoem, é básico mas funciona muito bem. O conceito de "bem" e "mal" em diversos níveis, nos personagens (da pra fazer igual ao filme e focar na prota, ou até expor os Ying e Yangs nos outros personagens de modo mais ainda claro também), o mundo competitivo do ballet tbm que pode ser extremamente tóxico como o filme, ou se quiser fugir de todo o clichê e toda a ideia de cisnes, trazer um ar mais legalzinho pra tudo. Acho que inclusive é um dos temas mais simplórios da lista, mas amo que amo

• "Casamento por contrato"

Tema simples². Outro conceito que amo, é o casamento forçado por contrato, aquele slow burn, aquele "eu quero mas não posso", que as vezes também é um "e se a gente se aproveitar enquanto pode, e depois terminamos quando o contrato acabar" que no final nenhum deles realmente quer, mas também não sabe como falar...acho até que tenho um rascunho de uma história assim, se pá algum dia eu volte e termine... outro simples que funciona delicinha, parece até macarrão num almoço de domingo!

• "Almas gêmeas" + "Vidas passadas" / "Doença de hanahaki"

Indo por partes, eu amo uma ligação de almas, um reconhecimento de almas, também um pouco influenciada por "A Maldição do Tigre" (inclusive tenho uma fic perdida e inacabada com o tema, mas que nunca conseguiu me agradar de fato, mas fazer o que);

Agora, eu acho que a hanahaki disease o puro suco do spirit fanfic, sempre gostei, por que também tem um certo slow burn, alguns desencontros, e se você tiver sorte: um final feliz... mas pode ser que não também né...

• "Mafia"

Outro puro suco do spirit e do wattpad, mas minhas motivações são poucas pra esse: Ateez em Ice on my Teeth 🤷‍♀️ o que posso fazer? Sou uma autora e leitora simples

• "Mundos de fantasia" / "Monarquia"

Também completamente influenciada por "Carnaval", mas eu amo mundos 100% de fantasia, e apesar de estar na vibe circense, eu geralmente prefiro aqueles que tem um toque medieval, sabe? Castelos, aqueles vestidos, cavaleiros, reis – a propósito, é o único lugar onde reis podem ser aceitáveis...–, e meus favoritos: dragões, fadas, bruxas...

E no quesito monarquia, adoro uns reis medievais, mas espero um dia conseguir escrever uma monarquia mais atual, como em "Vermelho Branco Sangue Azul"

• "Vampiros"

Ando muito em uma vibe literatura gótica, e minha figura favorita são os vampiros 🤷‍♀️, e apesar de gostar do Edward, eu prefiro os clássicos mesmo: O Conde Orlok, o Dracula e suas mil versões, a Carmilla... um básico que é de-li-ci-o-so 🫦

• "Super heróis" 🆕️!

Esse é novo na lista, e 100% influenciado pelo novo superman e pelo novo quarteto fantástico 😊, mas ao contrário dos outros conceitos, que adoraria explorar em histórias originais, esse aqui eu prefiro as fanfics mesmo, e acho que se tiver mais Surtos posso trazer mais um pouquinho 🤏🏻

Enfim, é isso! Obrigada por ler esse post sem sentido que vale mais pra poder tirar isso de dentro do meu cérebro, beijocas 💋

[yakuly]

I'm speechless...like Hooolly Mooly 🫦

mysteries of our disguise revolve

clark kent (superman 2025) x f!reader

summary: you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.

word count: 22.4k (i know it’s a lot but it’s worth it)

warnings/tags: +18 mdni, angst, banter, fluff !!!, clark has a savior complex, friends/coworkers to lovers, intern!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, the reader’s sort of a sensitive and insecure gal at times, clark picks the reader up, mentions of reader's hair, both of them are very awkward at times, idiots in love (proceed with caution), declarations of love, p with plot, fingering (f receiving), handjob, oral (m and f receiving), whiny clark kent !!!, cum swallowing, p in v, missionary, happy ending.

a/n: first time writing for clark kent!!! to say i’m nervous would be the understatement of the century. i finally got to watch superman last week, and let me tell you: i’ve been obsessed with it <3 i walked out of the theater and pretty much ran home to start writing this fic. so yes, this one’s completely self-indulgent. i just got carried away by the feelings and couldn’t stop writing, hence the length lol. i really hope you enjoy this story. if you do, likes, reblogs and comments mean the world. and feel free to scream in the tags—i’ll be screaming too 🫂

Sometimes, you truly wished you didn’t have a brain.

It sounds ridiculous, worded like that. You know for a fact you’re not the first person to want a quiet mind, to dream of a day when you’re not held hostage by your own intrusive, spiraling thoughts. You take a look around and realize there are much bigger problems out there in the world.

Scratch that—right here, where every few days, some inexplicable, monstrous creature appears out of the blue and starts tearing through everything that gets in its way, like Metropolis is a giant city made of Legos.

And yet, you can’t help but drown in self-doubt. The worst part is how suddenly it all hits you. There’s no warning or mercy. One moment you’re fine—functioning, even laughing—and the next, something inside you flickers and dies. The illusion of confidence crumbles, and you're left looking for the broken pieces, wondering when you’ll finally figure out what’s wrong with you. 

If only there were a way to cut it out, the rot, and replace it with something clean. Something shining. Something better.

The day you’re accepted for an internship at the Daily Planet, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and try to tell the girl in the fogged glass something that sounds like hope:

It’s going to be okay. You’re capable of this. Just show them your potential.

But the voice in your head isn’t convinced. It places an imaginary hand on your shoulder, deceptively gentle, until its fingers dig in, cold and burning all at once. It leans in, just behind your ear, and hisses the thought you’ve been trying to avoid: 

It’s only a matter of time before they realize they could’ve chosen someone better.

Just so much for a girl in her twenties.

You squint at the girl on Jimmy’s phone.

She’s beautiful. Blonde. The kind of effortlessly pretty that feels unfair. If you didn’t know her from these selfies, you would’ve thought she was some kind of model. Tall, blue-eyed, glowing with confidence. She even looks like the type of person who’d throw a tantrum if someone accidentally stepped on a cat’s tail.

Picking at your nails, your eyes flick from the screen to Jimmy. Then back again. Jimmy. Blonde girl. Jimmy. Blonde—

“She’s super pretty,” you say finally, handing the phone back to him over the desk divider.

He stands up with a smug little shrug, grinning as if he’s about to accept an award. “What can I say? Ladies just seem to love me.”

At that moment, Lois passes by right on cue, bracing herself on your desk and leaning toward Jimmy with a certain look that usually comes before total verbal destruction. “I’m still trying to figure out why,” she mutters dryly. “Guess I know what my next article’s gonna be about.”

A giggle catches in your throat, too fast to stop, and you mask it with a fake cough.

Jimmy eyes you like you’ve betrayed his loyalty. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Proximity makes us allies.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t resist a good joke,” you mumble, lifting your hands in mock surrender, earning an exasperated sigh from him.

Lois high-fives you without missing a beat. “You can always change seats.”

With a scoff, he declares, “Traitors. Both of you.”

As he launches into a dramatic defense of his dating history, Lois unwraps a candy bar, taking a bite before giving voice to her thoughts. “Honestly, I don't know why Clark gets away with disappearing for an hour and a half during lunch. I miss one deadline, and I’ve got Perry breathing down my neck.”

“Ever heard of this revolutionary thing called… privacy?” Jimmy asks her, raising his eyebrows in her direction.

She rolls her eyes, gesturing with the candy bar. “If I find out he’s out there eating real food while the rest of us are surviving on vending machine snacks, I’m suing.”

You're about to jump in with an equally sarcastic remark when the elevator dings.

The doors quietly slide open, and there he is.

Clark Kent. Carrying a cardboard tray of four coffees, his tie slightly crooked and hair looking like the wind styled it for him on the way in. There's a coy tilt to his smile, like he knows he’s late but hopes this peace offering makes up for it.

“Hey,” he says warmly. “Thought we could all use a little caffeine. Fuel for the hardest part of the day.”

Lois lifts her chin. “Look who finally decided to rejoin society.”

Balancing the tray in one hand, he straightens his glasses. “I brought bribes.” He hands hers over first, the corner of his mouth quirking up. A second later, Jimmy’s follows, and he gives Clark a quick pat on the back.

Then, to your complete surprise, Clark holds one out to you. No matter how many times he does it, you still get excited by his thoughtfulness.

You blink owlishly. Your name's neatly written on one side of the cup with a permanent marker, just above your order: two creams, two sugars. He still remembers your order and has never gotten it wrong. You take it calmly, like it might vanish if you move too fast, struggling to fight the smile wanting to break free. “Thanks, Clark.”

He bows his head, scratching the back of his neck, and looks up to meet your pleased gaze, studying how your expression softens. “You know there's a legal limit to how many times you can say thank you in a day, right? Pretty sure you’ve already gone over it.”

No clever, witty comeback comes to mind, so you turn back to your monitor, hoping the screen hides the heat crawling up your neck. Still, you can’t help whispering a very soft, “Thank you,” just before Clark turns on his heel and walks away.

He pauses for a split second, long enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes land on yours again briefly, like he’s trying to find a hidden answer in your features, and he gives the smallest nod, almost imperceptible, continuing toward his desk, the hem of his coat swaying with each step.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you chew on your bottom lip, twisting your ankles together beneath the desk to keep from fidgeting, hoping you’re playing it cool.

“Jeez,” a familiar voice mutters nearby. Jimmy’s shaking his head, arching a knowing brow. “You’re down bad.”

“Shut it.”

“I swear to God, if you’d just admit it—”

You lob a yellow highlighter at him, managing to hit him squarely on the shoulder with a satisfying thwack. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a pointed finger. “Keep your voice down. There’s nothing to admit. I’m just happy I have something to sip while I work. That’s all.”

Spinning lazily in his chair, he folds his arms behind his head like a painting of a man at peace. “I’ve got to hand it to you—it’s adorable, watching you try to lie to me. I’ve been sitting across from you for what, a month now?”

A faint line appears between your brows, and you catch the highlighter as he tosses it back your way.

He grins. “I’ve grown familiar with all your faces, young lady. And that dreamy look? The puppy eyes? That little tight-lipped smile?” He props his chin on his hand, his voice descending to a murmur. “Yeah. Those aren’t for public consumption. That’s VIP treatment.”

Fighting Jimmy is pointless. He’s the kind of guy who never loses an argument—mostly because he talks over you until you forget what your point even was.

He just doesn’t get it. You can find someone attractive without liking them, right? It’s just a stupid crush. A stupid work crush, to be precise, which is significantly worse than a normal one, because now the object of your hopeless affection walks past your desk on a daily basis like it’s nothing.

At some point, you stop being sure if you're trying to convince Jimmy or yourself.

Your brain whirs back to your very first day at the Daily Planet. You remember being led around by a chatty woman from HR, who kept smiling at you with what appeared to be feigned sympathy. She pointed out the break room, the vending machine, and in the end brought you to your new, empty desk right across from a redheaded guy who immediately stood and extended a hand.

“James Olsen,” he commented. “Welcome to hell.”

Before you could respond, he waved Lois over from a few desks away. “Lois, come meet the new intern.”

You told them your name, attempting to seem casual while subtly folding your arms across your chest like a human shield. You didn’t mention you already knew who they were, or the fact that you’d read Lois’s columns like gospel. Some things were better kept to yourself.

Then, along came Perry White. The Perry White. It only took you one glance at the man to recognize him: the iconic gruff editor-in-chief with a permanent scowl and a cigar that looked surgically attached to his mouth. He stomped over, barely glancing your way.

“Where’s Kent?” he grumbled, words muffled by the cigar between his lips.

Lois and Jimmy exchanged a look. Silence. Apparently, no one felt like volunteering information.

Kent, as in Clark Kent. The name alone triggered something weird in your stomach. He was the guy who somehow landed exclusive interviews with Superman like it was no big deal, most of which you’d devoured in one sitting.

In the nick of time, as if he’d heard his name from afar, Clark entered through the elevator, brushing his fringe to the side with one hand. Slung over one of his shoulders was a worn satchel bag, and in the other, he carried a cardboard tray, loaded with steaming coffee cups. He spotted Perry and made his way over, towering over pretty much everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“I know, I’m late again. Sorry, Perry,” he apologized, already reaching into the tray. “Maybe a hot coffee will help start your day?”

Perry grunted, took a cup, and walked away without another word. Clark contemplated him as he got farther and farther away, and once he was gone, turned back to the rest of you with a quiet exhale. “Really glad I bought an extra one today.”

Only two cups of coffee remained. He handed Jimmy and Lois theirs, then scanned the tray, his brows snapping together. His gaze landed on you, standing just a little behind the group, hands clasped awkwardly in front of you. That was when it hit him.

“Oh, I’m—” he stammered, fixing his posture. “I didn’t know there would be someone new. I’m so sorry, I would’ve brought you something too.”

“This is the new intern,” Jimmy supplied casually, taking a trial sip of his drink. “Started today. Doesn’t bite, probably. Has a name and everything.”

You offered a nervous little smile, giving Clark your name.

Clark repeated it under his breath, as if he was trying to memorize it. His attention flicked back to the empty tray, later returning to you. “Next time, I’ll make sure to bring you one. What do you usually get?”

Shaking your head, you tried to wave it off. “No, really, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

But Clark shook his own head right back, stubborn and visibly determined. “I insist.”

Jimmy leaned in, elbowing him. “No, for real—he insists.”

Lois smirked into her cup. “He's going to agonize over this all day.”

Clark’s ears reddened as he cast a glance at you again. “Just... let me know. So I get it right.”

Ultimately, you ended up telling him your order: two creams, two sugars. He nodded seriously, and repeated it: “Two creams, two sugars.”

“Better write it on your arm or something,” Jimmy interjected, sitting down on his chair. “In case it comes up in your next Superman interview.”

The next morning, you were late. Disastrously, embarrassingly late. Not just five-minutes-past-start-time late. More like why-even-bother-showing-up late.

You burst through the front doors of the Daily Planet like a fugitive fleeing a crime scene, lungs clawing for air, sweat clinging to your lower back and pooling around your temples. The last ten blocks had been a blur of dodged pedestrians and half-choked apologies, and every eye in the office felt like it had turned your way.

Avoiding eye contact, you slid into your seat. It was only your second day, and already you’d earned a reputation: the intern who can’t be punctual. What would be next? Forgetting your name? Accidentally setting the printer on fire? Calling Perry “dad”? You were so far inside your own head you barely registered the beverage sitting on your desk.

A lone paper coffee cup. You froze.

It was from the café around the corner, the same one Clark brought coffee from yesterday. An orange Post-it was stuck to the side, curling slightly at the corners, your name written just beneath it.

Hope you have a good time here. The handwriting was clean and tidy, with no signature, though you knew who had written it.

Your fingers brushed the cup tentatively, and the warmth seeped into your fingers, anchoring you in a moment that felt strangely tender. It was a small gesture, but it had found you when you were at your most unravelled, and somehow, that made it hit harder than it should have.

Glancing up, you noticed Clark was already seated at his desk, typing with ease. When your eyes met, he didn’t look away, just lifted a hand in a soft wave.

Before you could even process it, Jimmy bent over the partition, nodding at the cup. “Wow,” he uttered, pressing a hand to his chest. “On day two? Must be nice to be his favorite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Next thing you know, he’s bringing you lunch and rescheduling your dentist appointments.”

“It’s just coffee,” you retorted, but your hands didn’t loosen around the cup, clutching it like it contained the secret to world peace.

“Observe: the flustered intern in her natural habitat, attempting to rationalize a clear romantic gesture—”

“Don’t you have any photographs to take?”

His nose crinkled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your tragic office romance off the record. For now.”

To shut him up, you took a long sip, and immediately burned your tongue. Of course. When you glanced over again, Clark was observing you with mild alarm, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure if he should intervene. But then he returned to his screen, his shoulders just a little stiffer than before, and you looked back down at the cup. The note.

You weren’t saying that was when the crush started. But it sure didn’t help.

Fast forward to the present day, your fingers have been levitating over the keyboard for an embarrassing amount of time, the blinking cursor taunting you like it knows. You just hope nobody’s noticed the light leaving your eyes as you spiraled into a memory that felt much warmer than the air-conditioned newsroom.

You turn your head to the left for what you swear will be the last time today, though deep down, you know that’s a lie. A practiced one at this point. Clark is already typing, posture relaxed but focused, forearms braced against the desk. He’s moved his chair today, and the faint movement of the muscles beneath the back of his white shirt makes you blink hard, as if that might reset your brain.

“Perv,” Jimmy interrupts your thoughts in a sing-song voice, not even bothering to look up from his computer.

You jab the side of his ankle with your shoe.

He hisses, eyes squinting shut. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You don’t. What frightens you the most is that perhaps he has clocked you right. Straightening in your chair, you roll your shoulders back like you can shake it off. Crushes pass. This one will as well. Maybe by the time your internship’s ended.

Taking a sharp breath, you decide you need to get back to work. You can’t afford another mistake just because Clark Kent exists in the same room as you.

An email lands in your inbox. It’s one of many, the kind you handled almost without thinking twice. The task in it was far from difficult: skim the article, fix the typos, clean up the formatting, and make sure the version that goes online looked as polished as something with your name near it should. Routine. Safe.

At first, you don’t even flinch. You’re wearing headphones, the world on mute, until Jimmy taps your shoulder and motions for you to take them off. The moment you do, the noise rushes in. You register the low hum of tension in the room, and then comes the voice of one of your coworkers, shouting across the bullpen that an unedited version of an article had been published.

Silently, heads begin turning to find the culprit. And still, you don’t let yourself panic. Not until you hear the title.

Beneath the Streets, Above the Skies: The Creatures We Can’t Explain.

It’s yours.

Goddammit.

Your stomach flips as you scroll through the now-public piece on the Daily Planet’s website. It’s all there: the all-caps notes left by the writer mid-draft, barking out instructions to a future editor.

[FIX THIS. TOO WORDY.]

[DELETE — USE STAT FROM EARLIER DRAFT?]

[MAYBE CHOOSE A STRONGER QUOTE HERE.]

You’d sent the wrong version. Drafts mixed up, tabs blurred together, one careless attachment. And worst of all? You weren’t the one to catch it. By the time someone did, it had already been up long enough to embarrass the paper.

The article is eventually pulled, of course, but it had already been read by others.

A few people come to your rescue, trying to comfort you with those well-meaning phrases that sting more than they soothe.

It’s fine. Happens to the best of us.

Don’t beat yourself up over it.

It’s just one article.

Lois, in a moment of impossible generosity, offers to buy you an entire chocolate cake if it’ll get you to smile. She says it with a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood, but you can see it in her face, the silent sympathy. The confirmation that… yes, it had been bad.

What makes it worse is that it confirms what you already suspected about yourself: you’re not good at this. The little voice in your head, the one that is usually subdued by the clack of keyboards, is now screaming. You can hear going insane it in the spaces between your thoughts and heartbeats.

You had one job. You’ve been here for over a month, and you still managed to screw it up.

Panic blooms in slow, suffocating waves, rising behind your ribs and poisoning your bloodstream. You walk to Perry’s office on numb legs that barely feel like they are attached to the rest of your body. Your name had been called moments before. Knocking once, you step inside, your back flat against the cool surface of the door.

He doesn’t even look up right away. Just keeps reading something on his screen. “Something bothering that young brain of yours?” he asks without turning. “Because if you’re not going to be focused, I need to know. I don’t do hand-holding. This could’ve been a disaster.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re surprised he doesn’t pause to comment on it. When he finally decides to spare you a glance, it isn’t anger you’re met with. He looks tired, and even irritated, that he has to explain these things to you at all.

“Don’t be sloppy. I don’t like sloppy. Got it?”

Fervently nodding, you say, “Yes, sir.” You might grant him a smile, or perhaps something close enough to one, anyway. Then you leave, holding yourself together, and storm out of his office.

The newsroom is all windows and noise, impossible to disappear into, but taking the elevator isn’t a viable option at the moment. The stairwell, by contrast, is dim and forgotten, since no one uses it unless the elevators break down. That makes it a perfect place for you to hide.

You sit on the concrete steps and fold in on yourself, allowing yourself to cry. Sweaty palms pressed to your face, tugging at your hair like it might anchor you in your body. Silent sobs wrack your chest, and tears slip down your face, pooling at the edges of your mouth, making their way towards your chin and neck. Your knees draw to your chest, and you let yourself dissolve into shuddering breaths.

You aren’t just crying over the article, or the look Perry gave you, or the shame you saw in every pair of eyes that passed your desk.

You’re crying because at some point, without you even noticing, you’d let yourself believe that maybe—maybe—you were starting to belong here. That maybe you weren’t a complete fraud. It turns out it doesn’t take much to unravel those thoughts. Just one mistake. One article. One email you should’ve double-checked.

A couple of minutes pass, and you hear the door being opened and then shut. You’re too far gone by then: cheeks damp, fingers gripping your knees, shoulders drawn tight toward your ears. The sound of someone’s footsteps approaching you makes your stomach lurch, and instinctively, you swipe at your face, trying to clean yourself up with the heel of your palm as if that could erase the fact you’ve been crying.

You hear it. His voice.

“…Hey.”

Clark.

You rub your eyes, keeping your gaze fixed on a chipped bit of concrete near your foot, your throat too raw to answer.

There’s a pause. You don’t even hear him move, yet you feel him there, not close enough to crowd you, but not far enough either. He waits. It’s his thing, apparently.

Before you can stop yourself, you speak. “I’m fine,” you croak, too quickly. A reflex.

He doesn’t reply right away. A beat slides, and he mutters, “Didn’t ask.”

That earns a weak exhale from you. Not exactly laughter, but akin to it. You rest your forehead on your knees, and because you can’t help it, because it’s bubbling up and there’s nowhere else for it to go, you start talking. More like rambling, actually.

“I was tired, and I was trying to finish it fast, and I thought I’d already attached the right file, and—” You stop, inhaling sharply. “God, I’m pathetic.”

Clark still says nothing. You risk a glance in his direction and find him standing just a few steps down from you, one hand loosely resting on the railing.

You interpret his demeanor as an invitation to go on. “It’s so stupid. Everyone’s supposed to make mistakes. That’s what they say. But this doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels like confirmation. That I shouldn’t be here. That I’m playing pretend, and now everyone can see it.”

It’s only a matter of time before your voice cracks, and you suck in a breath like it might steady you, but it only makes your chest hurt.

Gently, without needing to say anything, he sits down beside you, leaving just enough space so you don’t feel boxed in. You feel the warmth radiating off his body even through the distance. A comforting kind of heat.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” you croak. “It’s miserable.”

“It’s not.”

You shake your head, and the tears come back again for a second round, your whole frame shaking. More tears. You thought you were done.

That’s when you feel it. The hesitant pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades. He doesn’t move it, just lets it rest there, warm as you continue to cry your heart out. You’re pretty sure he must think you’ve gone mental. Once he notices you’re not backing away from his touch, he begins rubbing your skin in small, slow circles. No pressure. No expectation.

Eventually, after long minutes of trying to even your breath, you shift toward him on instinct, and he opens his arms, enveloping you. You fold into the space he makes for you, still trembling, trying to convince yourself this isn’t humiliating. His chest is solid against your cheek, and he smells like cologne and paper and something sweet you can’t quite place.

You don’t ask why he came. You believe you already have your answer. Lois probably saw you bolt. Maybe Jimmy sent him. Maybe he drew the short straw.

It turns out you say it out loud, because Clark speaks gently into your hair. “No one sent me.”

You choke on your own saliva.

“I just noticed you’d been gone for a while,” he adds. “That’s all.”

Pulling back a little, just enough to look at him in the eye, you find his expression to be unreadable in that Clark Kent way. “I didn’t even realize I was gone that long,” you admit.

He smiles, barely. “I know.”

A long silence hangs in the air between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid.

Then he asks, almost like he already knows what you’ll respond next: “Why are you so hard on yourself?”

You laugh, though it comes out watery and bitter. “I don’t know how else to be.”

He watches you for a moment. The world outside the stairwell feels a thousand miles away.

“I think,” Clark begins carefully, “you hold yourself to this impossible standard. You think if you slip up, everyone will rub it in your face.” You stare at him, swallowing hard. “But no one’s waiting to punish you,” he explains. “They already like you. I already—” He stops himself mid-sentence. “You don’t have to earn that every second.”

His hand is still on your back. You don’t know what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just sit there with him. With yourself, and with everything you’re carrying. The silence lingers, suspended in time, and you can’t help but sniff after all that crying. You’re certain your eyes must be far beyond puffy and red-rimmed, your face blotchy, and you don’t even want to think about what your mascara’s looking like right now.

“Was it—” You hesitate, keeping eye contact. “Was it a lot? That I hugged you?”

Clark’s brows bump together in a scowl. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You gesture vaguely between your chests. “It was a full, like… torso-on-torso kind of hug. Which feels very much like a panic-hug. And I’ve only been working here a month, and you’re… you.”

His smile widens, carving those charming, endearing hollows into his cheeks. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but I do. You probably have, like, policies about emotionally unstable interns clinging to you.”

“If there’s a policy, I haven’t read it.”

“Figures. Of course, you read everything except the employee handbook.”

Playfully surrendering, he snorts. “Guilty.”

There’s a beat. He looks like he’s considering something as those blue eyes of his map your face.

“Want to hear something that’ll make you regret hugging me at all?”

You scratch your nose. “Sure?”

“What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary?”

“…No.”

He grins, too pleased with himself. “A thesaurus.”

“Oh my God.”

“I warned you.”

“No, but—a thesaurus?”

“What do you mean? It’s a classic!”

“I should’ve hugged Perry instead. Or the janitor. Literally anyone else.”

“That hurts. I opened my arms to you.”

“I did the arm-opening,” you shoot back. “You were just conveniently located.”

He’s chuckling, but his expression softens again when he sees you swipe under your eyes. You try to smile. You try. And it almost works, until your voice comes out small again. “I just didn’t want to mess up. I wanted to be good at this.”

“You are. Messing up doesn’t make you less good. You’d never say that to another human being.”

You look at him. The way he says it makes you understand he believes it. You’re not used to that. Most people say things like that with ifs and buts tacked on. Clark doesn’t. He just lets the truth sit there between you. Pressing your lips together, you gape at your lap, and then back at him.

“…Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he echoes.

A pause.

“Wanna hear another one?”

“Clark, please—”

“What do you call fake spaghetti?”

“I don’t even want to think about that one.”

“An impasta.”

You groan louder, forehead tipping dramatically against his shoulder. “Just fire me already.”

Clark giggles, not moving an inch. “Can’t. I’m just the delivery guy.”

“Of terrible puns?”

“Of coffee and emotional support.”

You laugh, this time for real, short and soggy and kind of breathless. In this tiny stairwell, with your head spinning and your chest still aching, this had been exactly what you needed.

By the time you’re both standing again, your eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed back and forth with sandpaper. You wipe at your face with the sleeve of your cardigan, though Clark hands you a tissue without saying anything. You take it, thanking him while intending to fix your appearance in the reflection of his glasses.

“You always carry tissues with you?”

“A man needs to be prepared.”

He doesn’t rush you, although both of you know that eventually you have to go back. “Ready?” he asks gently.

You nod like a liar, returning to the office. Jimmy spots you the second the door to the stairwell opens. He stands near the copy machine, holding a mug shaped like the Daily Planet’s globe, and raises his eyebrows like he’s seeing something scandalous. Lois leans out of her cubicle and gives Clark a slow look, then swings her gaze to you.

“Well, well,” she murmurs, wrapping a loose strand of hair around her finger. “We thought you’d fled the country.”

Jimmy snorts into his coffee. “I must confess I’ve never tried stairwell therapy. Sounds very promising.”

Clark clears his throat, cheeks just slightly pink. “She was just upset. That’s all.” Inching toward you, he whispers into your ear, “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod, and this time, it’s not entirely a lie. Your chest twists a little: not from embarrassment, but from the warm way everyone seems to be looking at you. You sit back at your desk, and Jimmy passes you a couple of snacks wordlessly, winking at you.

Lois throws a scrunchie at your head, giving you a thumbs up. “Fix your face,” she says. “If you cry again, you’ll dehydrate and die. And I don’t have time to explain that to Perry.”

Your throat tightens again, but for entirely different reasons.

You like Lois.

You really, really do.

She’s sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, the kind of journalist who could scare a senator into answering a question they’ve been dodging for a decade. She doesn’t soften herself to fit the room. If anything, the room adjusts to her. You admire that. You admire her.

You trust her, too, in the weird way you trust people after you decided not to trust them at all.

Which is why it catches you off guard, the quiet pinch in your chest when you see her standing next to Clark, cackling. And him, tittering the way he does when he’s truly listening, the corners of his eyes crinkling just barely behind his glasses.

They look like puzzle pieces that have known each other forever.

In your defense, this was all supposed to be a harmless observation. You’re standing next to the copier, waiting for it to spit out your stack of edited pages.

All of a sudden, the copier beeps, and you jerk away.

“Hey.” Jimmy materializes out of nowhere behind you, nearly making you drop your stack. “You okay? You look like you just found out your favorite character dies in the end.”

You force a laugh, too high-pitched. “No, I was just…thinking. That Clark and Lois would make a good couple. Like, objectively. They’re very…compatible.”

Jimmy blinks.

Then blinks again.

Then tilts his head as if you’re announcing you’re moving to Mars. “What—why would you say that?”

You stare at him, and the weight of what you’d just admitted out loud hits you like a train.

“I’ve picked up this terrible habit of saying my thoughts out loud,” you half-whisper, burying your face in the warm papers you’ve just printed. “You didn’t need to know that.”

“Hold on, hold on.” Jimmy steps in front of you, looking way too interested. “Back up. You think Clark and Lois are compatible?”

The copier makes an unholy crunching noise, and you yank the paper tray open, because you don’t want to meet his demanding gaze. “I meant it like…as a neutral statement,” you lie, badly. “A purely objective, journalistic observation. A general public-interest…thing.”

“Like you’re a neutral third-party scientist, observing the wild mating rituals of the office?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re so not a neutral third party. That might be the worst save I’ve ever heard.”

“Give me a break.”

“No, seriously, this is interesting. Tell me more about this neutral thought process. Was it before or after you began looking at Clark like he personally invented gravity?”

“Drop it, Jimmy.”

Jimmy looms closer the copier, puffing out his chest, looking way too smug for someone who sometimes accidentally deletes half his own files. “Listen. I love Lois. Everyone loves Lois. But Clark and Lois? No way.”

You glanced at him. “What do you mean ‘no way’? They’re…they’re them.”

“You said it yourself. I’ve seen Clark, a grown man, blushing when someone compliments his tie. You think Lois has time for that?”

You don’t answer right away. Your gaze drifts back to Clark, who’s now scribbling into his notepad while Lois steals the last bite of his muffin, and you force yourself to avert your attention from that scene. What you believe to be the truth sits heavy in your stomach, even as you joke around.

Because here’s the thing: this isn’t Lois’s fault. You’d fight anyone who said a bad word about her—so why does it still sting? Why does some ugly voice in your head start listing every way you fall short in comparison? This profound ache that you feel isn’t about her, not really. It’s about you: about how you always seem to be two steps behind the version of yourself you’re supposed to be.

Comparison is a cruel game, especially when the other player doesn’t even know she’s on the board.

Jimmy nudges your arm, the teasing gone a little softer. “Hey. Don’t overthink it.”

You’re fiddling with an old bracelet that dangles from your wrist. “You’re only about thirty years too late.” Gathering your pages, holding them a little too tightly, you take a step back. “I should get back to work.” You choose that to be your response, given it’s easier than saying I don’t want to feel like this, or I wish I didn’t care, or I think I’m falling for him, and I don’t know how to stop.

And because the alternative is staying here and letting Jimmy be right.

Again.

They arrange the plan casually, almost in passing. Someone mentions something about finally clocking out, someone else brings up the bar a few blocks away from the building, and then Lois chimes in with, “We’re all going, no excuses,” unwilling to take no for an answer.

And somehow, that settles it.

The sun dips low as the office empties, everyone spilling into the street with sleeves rolled and voices louder than they’ve been all day. You walk a step behind Jimmy, who’s listing the bar’s drink specials like he’s memorized them for a play he forgot to audition for.

The night has that kind of electricity. The possibility of being something good. Memorable.

The bar’s noisy in the comforting way only post-work places could be: the hum of old songs, clinking glasses, the rise and fall of casual arguments about baseball, or film, or whether Perry White had once owned a parrot (Jimmy swears yes, Lois says no, and Clark just answers “I’m afraid I have no parrot knowledge”).

You don't mean to drink your first cocktail that fast. You just... forget to pace yourself, but it helps, giving you permission to just exist. Laugh at Jimmy’s impressions. Pretend you’re not glancing at Clark more than you should.

The group is gathered near a back booth when Clark slips away. You only notice because it’s like a light flicks off inside you. When you spot him through the bar window—outside, on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, fingers pushing through his hair—you follow without thinking.

You don’t hesitate, slipping through the crowd and nudging the door open, letting it swing closed behind you.

He half-turns at the sound, catching you in his peripheral. A tiny smile lifts the corner of his mouth. He raises a single finger as if to say: One sec. So you lean against the wall beside the door, letting the cool air cling to your skin, internally cursing yourself for not putting on your coat before going out.

“Okay, Ma. Yeah, I’ll give him a call tomorrow. No, I promise, it’s fine. Yeah. Yeah, love you too. Sleep tight,” he says into his phone, ending the call and tucking the device into the pocket of his black slacks. “Sorry. That was my mom. Sometimes she calls without checking the time first. She gets all excited.”

You smile, your mouth twitching. “That’s… adorable.”

He shrugs, glancing down at his feet, almost bashful. “She’s always worried I’m working too much.”

“Well, are you?”

His eyes find yours, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. At long last, he retorts, “Maybe.”

You study him—the way his posture seems to be at ease out here, how the line of his shoulders relaxes in the quiet. There’s something about him that always feels held back, as if he’s managing himself carefully, like he’s afraid of taking up too much space.

Which is funny, considering how much space he’s been occupying in your thoughts lately.

“Are you annoyed?” you ask.

His smile fades. “What?”

“You seemed… I don’t know. Off.”

“No,” he says, seemingly caught off guard. “Not annoyed.” You nod slowly, unsure if that’s a real answer or the kind people give when they don’t want to be asked twice. “I just needed some air. That’s all.”

You let that sit between you. Let the quiet stretch a little. The last thing you want is to pry, but there’s something you want to know. It seems that lately you always want to know more with him, even when you’re afraid of the answers you might receive.

Next thing you know, your brain, being the traitor it is, decides now would be the perfect time to blurt: “So, uh… are you and Lois a thing?” It comes out too fast and loud, way too sincere. You immediately want to grab the words midair and cram them back into your mouth.

Clark straightens so quickly it’s like someone snapped a rubber band on his arm, his jaw clenching. “What?” The pitch of his voice cracks up a little, like his vocal cords haven’t gotten the memo that he’s supposed to be cool and composed.

“You and Lois?” you repeat, trying to style it as harmless curiosity. You throw in a half-shrug that feels more like a full-body spasm. “I mean… it’s not a crazy question. She’s Lois Lane. Beautiful woman, insanely good hair. I’d date her.”

“She’d eat you alive.”

“Yeah, but it’d be an honor.”

“Lois and I are just friends. Really good friends. We’ve been through a lot together, but… it’s never been like that.”

Looking down, you nod in agreement, peering at your heels. Did they always have that much shine? You shift your weight, unsure where to put your hands. “Great,” you reply. “I wasn’t trying to make things weird. It’s just—people talk, you know? Office gossip. Background noise. Someone had to ask.”

Clark cocks his head to the side, his forehead creasing. “Someone?”

“Yeah. I was just the unfortunate soul selected by the people. Took one for the team.”

He smiles then. “The team.”

“Yeah. Julie from Sports. And, uh… Carl.”

“Caro?”

“Yeah,” you say, faking confidence. “He’s new. Big into Hawaiian shirts. You’d remember him if you’d seen him. That dude’s hilarious.”

“Right.” He huffs out another quiet laugh, gesturing vaguely toward the bar. “Wanna go back inside?”

You shake your head. “Actually... I think I’m heading home.”

“Oh. You sure?”

“Certainly. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week. Brain soup.”

“I get that,” he says, softer now. But he doesn’t move. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Relax. I can get one myself. Last time I checked, I still owned a phone.”

He still doesn’t budge. “Or… I could walk you home.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I know.” He’s already turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll grab our stuff.”

And just like that, he disappears inside, the door swinging shut behind him with an almost faint thud.

The moment he’s gone, you let your head fall back against the bricks and close your eyes. It hadn’t been in your plans to ask about Lois. Actually, you hadn’t planned for any of this. You just saw him step outside and followed like gravity stopped being theoretical.

But sometimes, he looks at you like he sees something you don’t, which is the part that terrifies you.

The door creaks open behind you. You straighten quickly, trying to shake off whatever expression you were wearing. Clark has your bag slung over one shoulder and your coat draped carefully over his arm. He looks absurdly responsible.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” you say as he hands everything over to you.

“Too late,” he replies. “Chivalry wins again.”

You walk the first few blocks in companionable silence. The city has started to go quiet, and even though the night is soft, your brain isn’t.

Then, because the world is poetic when it’s inconvenient, your heel catches a crack in the pavement and you go down like a cursed fairytale. “Shit—damn it!”

“Whoa—got you,” Clark huffs, catching you just in time. His hands are at your waist, strong and certain, and you hate how easily your pulse betrays you.

You wince. “Ankle. Ow.”

He guides you down to sit on the front steps of a random building, pursing his lips. He crouches, eyes scanning your foot like he’s searching for something under the skin. “Probably just a twist. You should be alright.”

“How do you…?”

“What?”

“How do you know it’s not swelling?” you ask, scrutinizing him. “You barely looked. Didn’t even check it properly.”

“Just… a hunch, I mean—” His mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again with a whole new sentence. “Look, I didn’t hear anything snap, so... unless your bones are stealthy...?”

“That’s not exactly how ankles work.”

“I mean, you haven’t turned purple. That has to be a good sign.” He laughs, tight and awkward, and you snort despite yourself. His hand rakes through his hair. “Sorry. Just trying to be optimistic.”

“You sure you weren’t a paramedic in a past life?”

“Oh, no. I’d be terrible at that.”

Still, you watch him a second longer. He looks... nervous, like he’s afraid he said too much.

He kneels with his back to you. “Here. Get on.”

“Excuse me?”

“Piggyback. Let’s not make it a thing.”

“It’s already a thing. A humiliating one.”

“Let me reframe it: this is me being chivalrous, and you being temporarily horizontal.”

“That is not how that word works.” You sigh, dramatic. “Fine. Just… please, don’t drop me.”

As you climb onto his back, his hands reach back to catch the backs of your knees, and when his palms find skin—warm where your skirt’s ridden up slightly—it short-circuits something in your chest. It’s not even overtly intimate. It’s just… contact. Unflinching contact. You feel it like a current, a hot spark that rushes up your spine and settles somewhere inconvenient.

“Have I already mentioned this is embarrassing?” you mutter, resting your chin lightly against his shoulder.

“You say that like I’m not honored.”

“I’m a grown woman. You’re carrying me like a backpack.”

“You are basically a human backpack,” he quips back. “And kind of a noisy one.”

You smack his shoulder gently, making him laugh. You let your eyes drift closed for a second, his back is broad under your touch. You become aware of how safe it feels, how easy it is to trust him.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t even blink when I said I hurt my ankle. Like you already knew it wasn’t serious.”

He pauses. “I had a feeling.”

You lean back slightly to see his face, though the angle mostly gives you a view of his glasses and the top of his cheekbone. “You’re weird.”

Smirking, he glances sideways just enough for you to catch it. “Takes one to know one.”

You let it drop, at least out loud. But your brain doesn’t. It files this away with the other strange Clark Kent moments—the way he sometimes seems to flinch at distant sirens, or how you’d swear he once turned around because someone two desks over whispered his name.

By the time you reach your apartment, your ankle has started throbbing again, a dull ache radiating up your calf. Clark shifts slightly to let you down as you fumble for your keys.

You aren’t exactly drunk, but your head definitely feels funny. “Here we are,” he says, and you slid off his back and onto the ground like a sack of potatoes with a master’s degree.

“Thanks,” you mumble, trying to stand in a way that suggests grace and control. “You can, um. You can go be normal now.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I was normal before.”

“That’s debatable.” You finally open the door, triumphant, but instead of going in, you linger in the doorway, facing him. “Thanks for the rescue. Again. I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t move, and neither do you. Your fingers tighten around the doorknob.

There’s an unexpected pull in your chest. The way his collar is rumpled. The way his hair curls behind his ears. The way the night had been soft, and the sidewalk felt warmer when he walked beside you, and—

An unbeatable desire to kiss him invades your whole being. You want to touch his jaw and feel the shape of his mouth and know what it would be like to exist under his hands. To be held by Clark Kent.

He finally steps back, appearing reluctant. “You might want to put some ice on it. Maybe take something for the pain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And give me a call if it gets worse.”

“Only if I want to be carried again.”

“Happy to oblige.”

And then—finally—he walks away. You close the door behind you, pressing your forehead to the wood, heart knocking hard against your ribs.

You’re beyond head over heels.

Another Monday at the Daily Planet. It’s 8:56am, and as the elevator doors open with a cruel little ding, you carefully step out, checking your surroundings.

Everything looks the same—the hum of all those computers, some colleague having a hard time with the copier, Perry barking out unintelligible orders in the distance—but you are not the same. Not since last Friday.

Your ankle’s still a little sore, you haven’t been sleeping well, and Clark Kent could be somewhere in this building, existing like a real person with real hands and a real mouth you definitely didn’t imagine kissing at least ten times this weekend.

You weave through desks, praying for invisibility, when—

“Morning, sunshine,” Jimmy sing-songs from his chair, already halfway through a bagel, a smile plastered on his face. “How’s the foot?”

“Clark told you,” you say flatly.

Jimmy gives you a look, his eyes going round with faux innocence. “Who, me? No! I just assumed you mysteriously developed a limp and Clark suddenly discovered how to piggyback people from years of quiet farm strength.”

“I cannot believe he told you.”

“Oh, come on. It’s adorable.” Jimmy leans back in his chair, using his feet to make it spin. “You? Carried through the city like a Victorian maiden? I wish I had footage. I’d set it to music.”

“I hate you.”

He stops spinning to point his bagel at you. “You say that, but I think you secretly love being the main character.”

“Do I look like someone who enjoys attention?”

“Not attention in general. Just his.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Mostly because he’s not wrong, and your face is already betraying you. Sliding into your chair, you pretend to focus on your monitor like it contains NASA launch codes.

Maybe if you don’t look up, you’ll avoid—

“Morning,” Clark says gently, materializing beside your desk. You look up, and there he is. Soft smile. Soft eyes. Probably soft everything.

You panic and blurt the most neutral, irrelevant thing your brain can conjure: “Did you see that viral video of the goose chasing the guy through Centennial Park?”

Clark blinks. “I haven’t.”

“Crazy stuff. Nature’s relentless.”

“...Okay.”

You clear your throat, willing yourself not to combust.

“Anyway,” Clark continues with his inquiry, “I just wanted to check in. How’s the ankle doing?”

“Fine! Yep. Great. I can do five jumping jacks. Not that I have, but I could.”

He raises his eyebrows, visibly amused. “That’s good to know.”

“Cool,” you reply, cringing on the inside. “Cool, cool, cool, cool.”

And then you both just stand there, marinating in awkward silence. Eventually, Clark raises a hand in greeting and excuses himself to his desk, not before placing your usual coffee next to your keyboard. You thank him without managing to meet his eyes.

Your fingers hover near the cup, though you don’t pick it up right away. The warmth radiates against your skin. You’re aware of everything—your pulse, your breath, the tight flutter in your chest.

You try to return to your work. Really, you do. It’s just that your thoughts don’t seem to line up in a straight line today, and somehow English doesn’t even feel like your mother tongue anymore.

Then Jimmy slides a folder across your desk. “Perry wants you to proofread this by noon. No pressure. Except all the pressure.”

You sigh, taking a sip of coffee and trying to remember how to be a functioning adult. You’ve got a job to do, feelings to repress, and exactly three hours until lunch.

Later that day, after a full shift spent second-guessing every adjective you typed and rereading all those drafts like they were confessionals, you finally make it home.

Shoes abandoned by the door. Work shirt flung somewhere in your hallway. The glow of your laptop waits on the coffee table, your latest half-thought article still open, the cursor blinking, mercifully patient.

You settle into the couch with a sigh and think: this, at least, is something.

And then—you notice it. A crucial absence.

Your charger.

Still plugged in beneath your desk at the Daily Planet like it’s mocking you. Of course. Of course the universe wants you to suffer. As you reach for your phone, ready to spiral, it buzzes in your hand.

Jimmy Olsen.

You answer blandly. “If this is about that goose video again—”

“Relax. It’s not.” He speaks as if he’s chewing something. “Although, side note, there’s a new edit where the goose honks to the beat of Eye of the Tiger and—anyway. That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Then what, Jimmy?” You drag a hand down your face, dreading every second of the call.

“You left your charger here—”

“Don’t even get me started on that.”

“—but I already gave it to Clark.”

Silence. Heavy, jagged silence.

“You what?”

“Gave it to Clark. Figured he could drop it off, since he already knows where you live.” He pauses, then adds, in the world’s most audible smirk: “Wink wink.”

“You didn’t actually wink just now, did you?”

“Oh, I did, physically. With both eyes.”

“Jimmy—”

“You’re welcome. He said he was heading that way anyway.”

The line clicks dead. You stare at your phone for a moment longer, and then, because there’s nothing else to do, you stand.

You wander to the balcony, scanning the street in search of a man you know very well. There’s no way you’re mentally or emotionally prepared for this. Murmuring something unspeakable, you dart to the bathroom mirror. It’s too late to fix anything. Nevertheless, you splash cold water on your face, wiping under your eyes and blinking at your reflection like that’ll make you look alive.

Three polite, measured taps on your door have you looking at the doorway with utter fear, and that’s when you consider faking your death.

In the end, you open the door. Clark’s wearing a big coat that makes his shoulders look broader than human decency allows, holding your charger like it’s something precious.

“Hey. Delivery service. Courtesy of Jimmy Olsen.”

You draw in a long breath. “Thank you. I—I’m sorry you had to do that. He really didn’t need to drag you into—”

He shakes his head before you get to say more. “It’s no trouble. I was happy to.”

You step back, thumb tapping the edge of the door. “Do you wanna come in for a minute? I mean, you don’t have to. Obviously. But if you want water or—tea? Bad tea. That’s all I’ve got.”

He smiles, stepping inside as if he were trying not to track in mud. “Water’s perfect. Thanks.”

You leave him in the living room while you hunt down a clean glass, and as you pour, you curse yourself for the mess of dirty dishes on the counter. Once you come back, he’s not moving. Just standing by the couch, staring. At your laptop.

“I didn’t mean to meddle in your stuff,” he says gently. “But… were you writing something?”

You make your way around the couch. “Oh. Yeah. No. It’s nothing.”

He sits after getting rid of his coat, seemingly not believing your words. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

Placing the glass on top of the table, you take a seat beside him, your knees folding under you, fingers worrying at the seam of your pants. “It’s kind of dumb.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s just—something I started on Saturday night. I don’t know. It’s not an article, really. Not for the paper. Just… thoughts. About Superman. Or not him exactly. More about what he means to people.”

He says nothing. So you keep going.

“I guess I’ve been thinking about why people need something to believe in. Like a… structure. A symbol. Something to hang all their hope on. And for some people, that’s Superman, even if he’s flawed. He gives people permission to believe the world isn’t doomed.”

You pause. “And Perry would throw it in the trash if he ever came across it,” you add, bitterly. “So. Doesn’t matter.”

Clark’s gdoesn’t tear his gaze away from you. “I’d like to read it.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re okay with it,” he says, nodding toward the laptop. “I’d really like to.”

Hesitating for a second longer, you eventually slide the laptop in his direction. He adjusts on the couch as he leans forward, careful with the device, treating it as something delicate.

“Brace yourself for excessive metaphors.”

“Oh, I love metaphors. The more excessive, the better.”

And so he begins to read.

You try not to stare. At him, at the screen, at anything. You focus on the ticking of a clock you didn’t even know had batteries, wondering if Clark will also think that what you wrote is too silly. Too emotional or abstract. Perhaps he'll want to know why you were writing about Superman in the first place.

There’s a sudden shift in his demeanor. It’s subtle, barely anything. His shoulders drop a fraction, and when you take in the full sight of him, he’s grinning, reading all the way through.

“This is good,” he says, still concentrated on the screen. “Really good.”

“You don’t have to say that just to be nice.”

He shakes his head once, firm. “No—I mean it. The structure’s clean. You build your argument gradually, but it doesn’t drag. Your transitions are solid. And your tone—” He glares at you now. “—it’s vulnerable without tipping into sentimentality. There’s conviction in it, but you don’t preach. It feels like a conversation.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “It’s not finished yet,” you manage eventually, voice tight. “I still have to go over the middle section. I think I wasn’t that clear once I got into the part about collective memory—”

“Even so. You’re onto something. If you let me, I’d love to help you get it in front of Perry.”

Your eyes bore into his, edging closer to where he’s located. He looks entirely sincere. A sharp pressure envelops your chest, and you want to thank him for his kindness, but what comes out instead is a hoarse: “Really?”

“Really. We could try and talk to him one of these days.”

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in and hug him.

You don’t even think about it—your body just does it, and then you’re flushed against him, arms around his neck, your face tucked against the warm fabric of his coat. He smells like paper and some brand of laundry detergent you don’t recognize.

He hugs you back, and it’s not one of those loose, polite things. His arm curves around you like he means it. You close your eyes, just for a second, just long enough to remember what it feels like to be held like that.

“I keep doing this,” you utter, voice hushed by how near he is. “Randomly hugging you.”

“I don’t mind it. Not at all.”

When you pull back, you’re still half in his space, breathing a little faster than usual. The relief is short-lived.

You ask for the antidote to the ache that keeps you up at night, something to quiet the want that only he seems to understand. “Can you please do it?”

“Do what?”

Does he want you to say it?

You stare at him, and something in your stomach dives. “Please, kiss me,” you plead, your voice barely rising above the hush of breath between you, and yet it seems to echo in the small apartment. Your cheeks feel burning hot, but you don’t, can’t, won’t look away. Not now. Not with him so close you’re convinced your skin might start fusing with his.

That seems to shake something in him. It might be the first time you’ve seen him truly stunned. His lips part slightly, eyes flicking from yours to your mouth, trying to make sense of the fact that this is real. That you want this from him.

One hand lifts reverently and settles along your jaw. The pads of his fingers cradle the hinge of it like you’re beyond fragile, afraid of pressing too hard. His thumb barely skims the corner of your mouth, and you perceive a jolt going down your spine.

His touch is featherlight, but his breathing is not. It’s affected, perhaps as much as yours. “You really want me to?”

You nod. Or try to. It comes out more like an eager lean into his palm, your body already answering before your mouth does. It’s been too long since you’ve been touched this way, like you mattered.

Your thighs press against his, knees brushing the outside of his, as if you were nearly straddling him. When your hands move instinctively to his chest, you see it: the first button of his shirt undone. The faint rise and fall beneath it.

You glance up, asking without words. He doesn’t back away, and you press your fingertips lightly there. His pale skin feels smooth to the touch, and his heartbeat flutters beneath your fingertips, stuttering out of rhythm.

He wants this as much as you do. The human body doesn’t lie. It can’t. It doesn’t pretend to want something it doesn’t crave.

“I do,” you insist, the words catching faintly at the back of your throat, transfixed in a whirlwind of emotion. “I need you to do it.”

A shallow breath leaves him. There’s a thin, glowing ring of blue circling his pupils, his gaze so dark it nearly swallows the light. His other hand slides around to the nape of your neck, achingly gentle.

Clark pulls you in, and his lips meet yours.

At first, it’s a series of tender collisions, just the press and lift of mouths, as if he’s testing the shape of you against him, trying to memorize it in pieces. One kiss. Another. And another. They don’t last long because they don’t need to.

It’s when you tilt your head and open your mouth to him that he gives in. That’s all it takes.

He deepens the kiss instantly, as if he’s been waiting for that signal all along. His mouth claims yours with an urgency that feels both new and inevitable. His lips are plush, cool with mint, probably the vague trace of chewing gum still clinging from earlier.

Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline, his glasses knocking into your nose once, twice. Your body shifts, and then you’re fully perched in his lap, thighs spread over his. His arms adjust around your waist, steadying you there, holding you like he can’t bear the idea of you leaving. One of his hands slides to your lower back, while the other, still at your neck, traces along your jaw, then behind your ear, fingers tangled in your hair.

Sighing into him, your breath gets caught in the cavern of his mouth. The world gets smaller, somehow quieter. Just the sound of his breath mixing with yours, the thud of your pulse in your ears, the heat pooling between you like a live wire.

And even through it, he never stops being gentle. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t push too hard, though his body trembles beneath you every time he elicits a new sound out of you.

At some point, your lungs scream for oxygen, having grown unaccustomed to the sheer indulgence of kissing for several uninterrupted minutes. You pull back only enough to press your forehead to his, gasping his name. You’re kissed raw, lit from the inside out, and the only thing anchoring you is the reassuring pressure of his arms, still wrapped around your frame.

Your lips linger over his, and when you open your eyes, you find his still closed. Neither of you speaks for a moment. His thumb traces a distracted path across your lower back.

Then:

“You should start forgetting your charger more often,” he murmurs, voice a little raspy.

That alone has you focusing on evening out the creases of his shirt with your palm, mostly to avoid combusting. “I swear it wasn’t on purpose.” His finger gently lifts your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. The quiet ache of tenderness in his eyes nearly does you in. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

The words you’ve been actively trying to cage in for months fall out of your mouth without permission, but you don’t regret them. “I like you.”

He gathers you tighter against his chest. “Well, I can’t say I’m not flattered,” he says, teasing, that crooked half-smile already returning. A laugh bubbles out of him—but it’s giddy, boyish. You cut him off by covering his mouth with your palm.

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying to have a moment here.”

He gently peels your hand away, lacing your fingers with his instead, and brings them to rest against his chest. “I’ve probably been dreaming about this since your first week at the office,” he admits.

You glance up and notice his glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose. Carefully, you push them back up with a fingertip. “I was always looking at you, you know,” you confess, quieter now. “Couldn’t help it.”

“You talk like I didn’t bring you coffee on your second day,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. Leaning back just enough to take you in, his eyes sweep slowly across your face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

The words melt straight into your spine, and before you can think better of it, you surge forward and kiss him again. He meets you without hesitation, and when you break away, you leave a trail of humid kisses across his cheeks, down the line of his jaw, until your mouth finds the curve of his neck.

“I think my kissing might be a little rusty,” you croak into his skin. “Could probably use some improvement.”

“You’re kidding? It was fantastic. What are you—oh.” A beat. Then: “Oh. Sure.” He’s grinning like an idiot now, draping an arm around your waist. “I mean, I can help you with that. Practice makes perfect.”

“How noble of you, Kent.”

Your first kiss (kisses, plural—you lost count around the third) marks a shift in the fabric of everything. You’d seen it coming, even gave yourself a pep talk in the mirror that morning.

But then Clark sets a coffee on your desk, just as he always does, and says, “Hope you have a really good day today,” and suddenly your pep talk is useless. You’re smiling like someone who knows something others don’t. Because you do.

Together, you find a rhythm. You don’t talk about what this is—yet—but something’s shifted. No overt PDA. Not even flirtation, not really. Just… little things. Things that no one else clocks. The way he passes you a folder with an unnecessary brush of fingers. The way he saves you a chair in meetings and pulls it subtly closer to his, so that your knees bump under the table.

It’s the kind of thing that would be completely invisible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything. It’s a love letter made of glances and millimeters, what you replay at night before bed, giggling at your ceiling like a fool.

Weeks pass in a blur of late nights and whispered conversations in elevators, and work has never been this motivating. Even Perry has stopped looking at you like you’re one bad coffee spill away from being escorted out by security.

One of Clark’s articles makes the front page—again—and when Jimmy sees it, he promptly rolls up the newspaper and smacks Clark in the arm with it. “Alright, headline hero. At this point, you’re just showing off.”

Clark ducks his head with a laugh, caught mid-fumble with his bag, a coffee, and what looks like three different folders sliding out from under his arm. You want to help him, but instead you just stand at your desk, watching like an idiot, warm with the kind of affection that makes your hands feel too light.

Lois arrives like she’s been summoned by sarcasm. She chews the end of a pen and corners Clark against his desk, watching him try to stack his chaos. “You know, Kent, I find it fascinating. You always seem to be conveniently nearby when Superman’s handing out interviews like candy on Halloween.”

He doesn’t look up, adjusting his monitor as if that could save him. “What can I say? Maybe I’m his type. We haven’t kissed yet, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t try to be clever with me. What do you give him? Why does he only let you interview him?”

“Have you considered he just… likes my writing?”

“So now you’re accusing him of bad taste?”

Jimmy slides into frame, palms raised. “Okay, okay. Time’s up, guys.” He puts both hands on Lois’s shoulders with exaggerated care. “You, my friend, are tense. Breathe. Maybe try yoga. Or tequila.”

Blowing air through her cheeks, she finally peels away, muttering, “I just wish Superman would leave his favoritism aside.” Before heading to her desk, she gives Clark one final, mysterious look.

Jimmy drops into his own chair dramatically, putting his feet over his desk. “Well, at least I tried.”

The day presses on. When lunch rolls around, you’re still grinning. You spot Clark at his desk, half-eaten sandwich in one hand, the other scrolling through something on his monitor, glasses barely askew. You approach with your hands clasped behind your back, adopting a mock-serious tone.

“Mr. Kent.”

His eyes flick up, and he swallows a bite too quickly. “Oh. Hi. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You tilt your chin toward the newspaper near his bag. “Just wanted to congratulate you on the article.”

He lowers his voice until it’s almost inaudible, cheeks going faintly pink. “Thank you, baby. I would've hugged you the second I saw it, but, you know…”

“To celebrate… I was thinking dinner? I could make homemade pasta.”

“Gosh, I’d love that. Your place?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” he murmurs, gaze soft and so full of feelings it nearly unmoors you. “You look beautiful today.”

It hits you in the ribs, the way he says it. You offer him your fist. “Fist punch?”

His smile is half laughter, half reverence. He bumps your knuckles with his own, his fingers linger a beat longer than necessary.

As night folds in around your apartment, you’ve been stirring the sauce for the past twenty minutes, though it’s been done for at least ten. The smell of garlic and basil lingers in the air, the wine is uncorked, and the candles you lit—just two, nothing too obvious—are dripping lazy wax trails down their sides and onto the counter.

Your phone buzzes where it’s propped upright beside the sink.

Clark: Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up. Can we rain check dinner? Promise I’ll make it up to you.

You just stand there, wooden spoon in hand. No call or explanation. Just the same vague apology he's given you three times now, each time with a different flavor of excuse. Each time with the same effect: you, left waiting with something you didn’t mean to take so personally.

There’s an answer teetering on the edge of your tongue. You even type, It’s alright! :-), with the smiley face and all, mostly to seem breezy. Effortless. But your thumb pauses, then backspaces slowly until the message disappears, and you leave him on read. Not as a form of punishment, but because you don’t know what else to reply.

You try to be patient. Try to be the kind of person who shrugs things off, who doesn’t take a rain check as anything more than bad timing. The problem’s that you’re not wired that way: you feel too much. You think too much.

Turns out, keeping your brain from imploding is the hardest part. You’ve even been practicing it lately, this thing of not jumping to the worst-case scenario. Telling yourself not everything is a sign, and that people get busy and have lives.

The thing’s that your brain has a voice of its own. A mean one, which sounds an awfully lot like yours.

Maybe he kissed you because he felt like he had to.

Maybe he doesn’t know how to say it, but he’s changed his mind.

Maybe he never wanted something serious, and you’re the only one building stories out of crumbs.

Dragging your feet back to the living room, you sit down in the nice pair of clothes you’d chosen for the occasion, and blink at the empty coffee table. As your body sinks into the couch cushions, the fatigue of disappointment sinks deeper than any full day at the Daily Planet. The TV throws shadows on the walls, some sitcom playing to an invisible audience.

And when your eyes finally close, you let sleep take the shape of mercy.

The pasta incident, when the spaghetti went cold and your heart even colder, wasn’t the last time he left you waiting.

Almost two weeks later, it plays out again.

The door clicks open an hour and a half past when he said he’d be here. You don’t greet him. Instead, you remain in the kitchen, back precisely angled away from the entrance, pretending to be focused on dinner even though it’s gone cold.

Clark’s footsteps are calculated, a careful shuffle across the living room carpet, testing the silence. He pauses just inside the kitchen's threshold. “Hey, honey,” he says, a little too bright, a little too loud, his greeting threading through the stillness. “Sorry I’m late. There was something I had to take care of.”

You crane your neck slowly. His hair is damp, curling at the edges, exactly as it does after sweating. His shirt is inside out, rumpled, the collar a crumpled mess. His cheeks are flushed, a deep, uneven red, and his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as if he sprinted the last few blocks. He looks utterly disheveled.

You don’t ask where he’s been. Not yet. “Your shirt's backwards,” you retort instead, the words flat, neutral.

Startled, he bows his head, looking down and letting out a short, forced puff of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “My bad. I didn’t even notice.” His eyes, meeting yours, hold a flicker of surprise, quickly veiled.

“Yeah. You seem… in a rush.”

He doesn’t contradict you, just watches, completely tongue-tied, his posture subtly tightening. You drop your gaze back to the casserole dish—stuffed eggplants, roasted earlier in the day—and put it back into the oven, hoping it’ll survive the fifth reheat of the night.

Behind you, you feel him inch closer. A familiar warmth spreads across your back as his body presses gently against yours. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands resting lightly on your stomach, chin settling onto your shoulder while he brushes his lips against your cheek. “You’re quiet.”

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug. “And you’re late.”

His hold around you tightens, rocking both your bodies back and forth before spinning you around to face him. His eyes, filled with longing, seek yours. “I missed you.”

If only that could be enough. You wish you could live off the sound of his voice and the weight of his hands on your body, letting his presence fill all the empty spaces, though you can’t help craving the one thing he won’t grant you: clarity.

Clark kisses you hungrily, a low, frustrated sound catching in his throat the moment you open to him, your tongue clashing with his. His cold hands glide up your back, slipping beneath your shirt to find bare skin, and you gasp as his fingers knead your lower back, the swift curve of your spine.

In one seamless motion, he lifts you onto the counter, and the kiss evolves into one heated and consuming, more of a desperate embrace. It's almost like he’s trying to make up for every second he’s missed, every moment of absence now erased by the force of his presence. Your fingers tangle in the damp hair at his nape, giving it a firm tug. That has him groaning against you, stepping further in between your knees, pressing flush against you.

His kisses deviate, trailing south, turning sloppy. "It’s been two months since our first kiss," he rasps against your throat, lips dragging over your damp skin, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a trail of heat.

For a moment, you let yourself vanish into him, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation, the promise of fleeting oblivion. You swallow hard, a whine bubbling up in your chest as his hips grind into yours with rhythmic pressure.

A sharp sizzle coming from the oven cuts through the haze.

You stiffen, hands finding his chest, pushing against him, breathless. "The eggplants."

He lets out a dazed breath, his forehead still resting against your clavicles before you manage to slide off the counter. You crack open the oven just in time, a cloud of smoke puffing out.

Plating the food, you meticulously avoid his gaze. The comfortable intimacy of moments before has been shattered. “You could’ve let me know you’d be arriving this late.”

“I told you—”

“I know,” you cut in. “Something came up.”

He exhales, planting hands on his hips. His body remains a few feet from you, a physical barrier building. “Okay. So you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Disappointed, then?”

“Clark, it’s not even about tonight.”

“Then what is it about?”

You hesitate, picking up both your plates. Then: “Where were you?” The silence that follows stretches too long, and he merely stands there, observing you “Right.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not fighting. I’m just… tired.”

He takes a single step closer, his brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me.”

You glance at him, quietly. “Should I?”

That hits him like a slap. “I told you I liked you, that I care about you. About us. I’ve shown you that.”

“But then you vanish,” you say in rejoinder, voice trembling. “You show up looking like you’ve just escaped a fire. You don’t answer calls. You don’t explain anything. Don’t you think that drives me crazy?”

“I’ve been telling you—”

“Clark, it’s not about you saying it! It’s about me believing it. And you don’t exactly make that easy.”

“The real problem here is that you don’t trust me.”

“You think I want to be like this? You think I like doubting people when they’re kind to me? Well, I’m sorry,” you snap, the words coated in sarcasm, a desperate defense. “Would you like me to book a therapy session mid-dessert?”

“Maybe you should,” he agrees—and the moment he does, his shoulders slump, a quiet wave of regret washing over his face.

Biting your tongue, you carry your plates to the table, placing them down on the wooden surface. He stays in the kitchen, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer now. “I just— I don’t know how to do this when you already assume I’m going to leave.”

“I’m not assuming,” you say, barely a whisper, sitting down at the table. “I’m just preparing for what usually happens.”

“You’re staring at me like I’m about to vanish.”

You blink, wounded by his accuracy. “Because people do. They do that.”

“I’m not people!” he exclaims, suddenly louder, cracking with what you perceive as frustration. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white, though he remains rooted in place. "I’m me. And I’m standing right here, aren’t I?"

“For now. Who knows if something else will come up?”

Something cracks in him then. He exhales a sharp sound of utter defeat. His blue eyes dart around the kitchen, looking everywhere but at you, like he suddenly doesn’t know where to put his hands. With a jerky motion, he turns abruptly and moves to the couch, grabbing his bag, and after a quiet clink, he places the set of keys you gave him—your apartment keys— on the table.

He doesn't look back at them. Or at you. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Okay.”

“Clark—” you start, a desperate plea forming in your throat.

“Thank you for the food,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s great.”

Then the door clicks again, and he’s gone.

The Daily Planet office, once a source of nervous excitement, now feels like the perfect stage for an excruciating play, where every creak of a chair, every muffled phone call, and every far-off laugh from the newsroom, feels amplified.

One day bleeds into the next. Two become three. Three into four. Time unspools in quiet, colorless strands, and you and Clark don’t speak.

You develop a radar for him. The way his broad shoulders appear in the periphery of your vision when he walks past your desk. The clean scent that lingers for a moment too long in the air after he’s been near. The rustle of his coat, the click of his shoes.

Each tiny signal sends a fresh jolt through you, a cocktail of longing, hurt, and a futile sense of hope that he might just look at you differently.

He never does. His gaze, when it lands anywhere near your orbit, can be described as nothing more than fleeting. His profile, when you cast him a quick glance, is unreadable, stony. He still places your usual coffee beside your monitor. The one you haven’t asked for. The one you don’t touch.

It’s the careful avoidance of two people who know too much about each other, and yet, not enough.

Jimmy, bless his usually boisterous heart, is the first to notice the shift. The absence of his jokes feels heavier than any of his previous teasing. He watches you some mornings when you walk in—does a quick, puzzled double take—then looks away with a frown you’re not supposed to catch.

Your new routine includes staying late at the newsroom. Not because you’re more productive, but because being alone in the office feels better than being alone in your apartment. You stare at the same document for hours while words blur and sentences unravel in front of you.

But when your mind finally stills, it drifts to the article. The one you wrote about Superman. The one Clark urged you to show Perry.

You’d written it during a different time. A better one. It had come from a place of awe, from a belief that Superman was more than a shiny cape and strength—that he was what Metropolis aspired to be: a symbol of better days, of striving, of hope.

Now, hope feels like a language you’ve forgotten how to speak.

Today, you don’t believe in hope. You believe in a man who held you like he meant it, once, and can’t meet your eyes now.

Nevertheless, you print the article, not really knowing why. Maybe because it’s the only thing in this building that still feels like it belongs to you.

Gathering the pages, you breathe in, hold it, let it out. Outside Perry’s office, you linger for a full minute before knocking.

His office is its usual chaos: tottering stacks of newspapers, coffee cups in varying states of decay, and the smell of old cigar smoke clinging to the walls like wallpaper.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he grunts. “What’ve you got?”

You step inside slowly, article in hand, your grip faltering slightly as you set it down on his desk. “I know this isn’t what I was assigned, but I’ve been… working on something for the past weeks.”

He squints at you. “You been using our electricity for your side projects?”

“No! I—I wrote it at home. I swear.”

He huffs, puts on his reading glasses, and begins scanning the first page. You try not to stare at him, but it’s impossible. Your eyes cling to every twitch in his jaw, every slight narrowing of his eyes.

His face gives away nothing, and you brace for the worst. That it’s too sentimental. Too soft. Too young.

Finally, he leans back, lifting his chin and pinning you with a piercing look. “Do you like it?”

You blink owlishly. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because I want to know.”

“It’s not up to me,” you deflect. “You’re the one who decides if it runs.”

“I know that. But you wouldn’t bring me something you didn’t believe in. So I’ll ask again: are you proud of it? Do you think it belongs in the columns of this paper?”

For a moment, your throat closes up. You hadn’t realized how deeply you’d buried your own opinion. You’d been so focused on disappearing, on not making noise, not taking up space—especially this week—that you forgot to consider what you thought of your own work.

Perry’s looking at you like he’s not going to breathe until you answer.

So you speak, nodding in agreement, and right after adding, “I believe people will find it comforting.”

“Then you know what comes next.”

Your confidence may not be at its best, neither is your hope, but this is enough. At least to keep writing, to walk back to your desk.

It’s enough to make it to tomorrow.

Sleep won’t come.

You’ve tried everything: writing until your hand cramped, scrolling endlessly, even lying on the floor like a starfish, begging the ceiling to knock you out. Meditation felt like self-punishment tonight. Silence only made the memories louder.

So you call him. Once, twice, but you’re met with nothing else than his voicemail. You don’t leave a message. What would you even say? Hi, I know you said you cared about me and then walked out of my apartment looking like you were breaking from the inside out, but I miss you and I can’t breathe right now, and can you please just—

You decide to hang up, tossing your phone onto the couch and flicking on the television. Static. Infomercials. Cartoons. Some old film from the 1940s.

And then—Lois Lane’s voice. The screen flickers to life, showing a live, chaotic feed. A shaky handheld shot from a rooftop shows a scene near Metropolis General Hospital. A glowing creature, a blur of silver and blue and fury, throws what looks like an empty city bus like it’s paper. A streetlamp explodes and sirens scream in the distance.

It all makes you wonder where Superman is.

He’s not flying in for a rescue, not beaming reassuring smiles, not waving at kids from the sky. He’s in the dirt, bloodied at the temple, gritting his teeth as he lifts a half-crushed ambulance off the street.

You sit up straight, your heart climbing to your throat.

Lois’s voice crackles through the footage: “—been a difficult few weeks for Metropolis’s hero. Fans online have pointed out the change in his demeanor: less smiling, more… focused. Almost withdrawn. We’ve reached out to the authorities—”

It’s physically impossible for you to hear the rest because you’re entranced watching him. He’s moving like someone who hasn’t slept in days. Fighting like he doesn’t care if he gets hurt.

You can’t look away.

The camera pans wildly as Superman lunges forward, slamming his shoulder into the creature’s ribs with a sound that resembles crumbling concrete. There’s a fresh gash across his cheekbone, his hair disheveled, not in the windswept, magazine-cover kind of way, but genuinely messy: flattened in places, curling in others, soaked with sweat.

For the first time, you’re not watching Superman. You’re watching someone else. Someone who looks like—

No. No, that would be insane. The idea is so preposterous, your mind rejects it, but the seed of recognition has been planted. It can't be. Not him.

Once again, Lois’s voice cuts through the footage, her tone sharper now, edged with that reporter’s concern she usually hides under cool professionalism.

“Superman was spotted fighting alone for nearly half an hour before backup arrived. And while officials say the Justice Gang is expected to contain the situation soon, many are asking the same question: what happens when Superman is no longer invincible? What happens when he burns out?”

Staring at the screen, you contemplate his eyes flickering up for a second—just a second—like he’s heard something above the noise. And they’re blue. The exact kind of blue that’s filled your mornings for the last three months.

Your breath stutters. The camera angle shifts. This time, it shows his jaw flexing as he takes another hit, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

You’ve seen that gesture. Too many times. “No,” you whisper out loud. “No, that’s not possible.”

You’re already moving, with your heart in your mouth. You don’t even know what you’re reaching for at first, until your hand brushes something at the back of the drawer beneath your TV. It’s a pair of old prescription glasses you never quite got used to, the ones you always said gave you headaches.

Holding them up, you hover them in front of the TV, and your world rearranges itself.

There he is.

Clark.

Clark, with that same square jaw, that same tilt of his mouth when he’s gritting through something.

Clark, who stammers when he’s nervous, who brings you coffee even when you won’t drink it.

Clark, whose shoulders you could rest your whole weight on—not only because he’s strong, but because he’s been carrying the sky for so long and somehow still made room for you.

Clark, who sat next to you on the stairwell that day when you felt like quitting.

Clark, whose kindness never felt performative, who looked at you like you were worth listening to even when you were barely making sense.

Clark, who vanishes into smoke and ash and headlines. Who leaves through the fire escape and returns hours later. Who smiled at you across the office like it meant something, and maybe it did, maybe it always did—but now you know the cost of that smile.

If you lower the glasses, he’s Superman again.

If you lift them… it’s the Clark you know.

They’re the same man. Two halves of a single truth.

“Oh my God,” you whisper again, this time not out of disbelief, but something much deeper. Something hollow and shattering.

Lois’s voice keeps going, but it’s background noise now, a murmur beneath the ringing in your ears.

You sit back on the couch, eyes locked on the screen, heart thudding like a trapped bird. Every memory starts to rearrange itself, clicking into a terrifying, undeniable pattern. His sudden disappearances. The uncanny way he knew you weren’t hurt that night at the bar. The tension in his voice each time he apologized for being late. The way he’d always kiss you like it was the last time he’d ever get to.

The truth has slipped through a crack you never saw until now, and there’s no unseeing it. He was lying to you, but not in a cruel way. He was just trying to protect you.

The monster finally goes down in a shuddering collapse of concrete and bone. The camera shakes violently, jolting as dust swallows the scene, and then steadies just in time to catch Superman—or Clark—landing hard on one knee.

Green Lantern, Mr Terrific and Hawkgirl all converge around him, bruised and dust-streaked, checking in on each other. But your eyes won’t leave his face. There’s a scratch across his brow along with many others. His mouth twitches into a faint smile as the crowd outside the hospital begins to clap, nodding at them. He doesn’t need to say anything, at least not right now.

For one suspended second, his gaze falls directly into the camera lens, and it’s not the kind of look meant for press or headlines or statues carved in his honor. It’s private, and heavy, and it feels like he’s looking straight into your apartment, straight through the screen.

Straight through you.

Lois’s voice snaps back into focus: “Metropolis, you can rest easy tonight. For now, Superman and the Justice League have subdued the threat.”

You press a hand to your mouth, the glow from the television casting his silhouette across your walls, larger than life, yet so impossibly familiar now it almost hurts to look.

He steps away from the others. Sirens flash red against his suit, casting ripples of color through the smoke. A few children break from the crowd, darting past yellow caution tape, their small arms wrapping around his legs in awe-struck gratitude. He kneels momentarily, accepting their hugs with the kind of gentleness that breaks you open.

You can’t hear what he says to them, but it softens their faces. One of them gives him a flower. Another just holds his hand.

Then, without fanfare, he lifts off the ground, launching himself into the sky. The wind kicks up rubble, camera crews duck, the picture shakes, and he vanishes into the sky like he was never really there.

Gone.

You stare at the empty space he left behind on the screen, breath snagged in your lungs.

“Where are you going?” you mumble, reaching for the screen. “Where are you—”

The muted clatter of ceramic on concrete interrupts your rambling.

Slowly, you turn your head to your balcony, afraid of what you’ll find. Out past your window, a potted lavender plant lies cracked and wilting. Clark’s standing there, just outside the glass. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled, wincing is he gestures to the shattered pot at his feet. “I didn’t calculate the landing right.”

Rooted to the floor, as if your feet have been sealed to the carpet, you stare at him through the glass as if he’s a hologram. A turbulent mixture of strange feelings clashes inside you, and you fight them back, stepping to the side as you open the window. His boots scuff against the floorboards, dragging slightly as he steps inside

At first, he can’t seem to bring himself to look at you directly. He paces around the living room, running his hands through his hair, sighing like someone who’s rehearsed this moment a thousand times and still doesn’t know where to begin.

“Clark—”

“This is why I disappear all the time,” he blurts, abruptly stopping in front of the television. “Why I cancel our plans. Why I show up late, or leave before I’m supposed to, or text you lame excuses like ‘Sorry, got held up’ when I’m halfway across the planet.”

It’s hard to make the connection. The leap between the man who fumbles with his tie and tells bad puns over takeout, and the mythological figure on screen who bends steel and outruns storms, whose every move seems broadcast across the globe.

They’re two versions of a whole you never imagined could overlap. And yet… it makes sense, somehow. Of course Clark would be Superman. A man so genuine, so generous, who expects for nothing and finds the way to see beauty in rusted scraps and broken things—who better to carry the weight of hope?

“I should’ve told you sooner. God, I meant to. I wanted to, I swear. I was going to, that night after I read your article. You were sitting there, talking about Superman like he was some kind of miracle and I just—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “It got too easy to pretend I could have both. Be with you. Protect you. Keep it all going without having to risk what we had.”

Interrupting him now would feel like an act of pure cruelty. You see the disoriented anguish in his gaze, the way his fists clench and unclench with each passing second, how desperately he seems to need to unburden himself.

You wonder what would’ve happened if, instead of crashing onto your balcony and shattering a pot in the process, he had simply returned to his own apartment. Would the love you hold for him feel so present in any other scenario?

“I know this is a lot to process, but I came to understand something about you.” His voice holds such certainty it frightens you, because lately it feels like everyone else can decipher what’s happening to you except for yourself. “You think you’re just this temporary thing, because you don’t see yourself the way I do. That’s why you’re always bracing for things to fall apart.”

You want to explain yourself, to give a reason for your not-at-all-desirable behavior, but you realize you can’t in this moment. Not when honesty radiates from him like heat.

In the blink of an eye, he’s holding your hands in his, his grip gentle yet firm, and he brings them to his lips to press a short, tender kiss to the back of them.

“I can’t seem to make sense of it. I’ve tried. But it’s been impossible for me to find a single reason why you should believe that about yourself.” You brush a tentative finger along his injured cheekbone, stopping just before you swipe dried blood, though he still offers a soft smile. His gaze is so profoundly tender you wonder if this is the first time you're truly contemplating the depth behind them.  “I’m in love with you. And if I could show you your reflection through my eyes for one day, you’d understand why you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep.”

You never thought this type of experience could be granted to you. The belief that such moments were reserved for certain people feels now demystified. Perhaps no other moment in your life could’ve prepared you for this.

Of all the unrealistic scenarios you'd concocted over the years, mostly in your adolescence, when fantasies of a pure and overwhelming love did nothing but numb you, you never would’ve imagined someone would love you in this way, declaring their love for you so sincerely.

The need to get rid of the blood on his face gnaws at you, and you find yourself gently tugging him towards the kitchen, neither of you saying a word. You search for a clean dishcloth in some forgotten drawer, holding it under the faucet for a few seconds. Once it’s dampened, you press it softly against the bruised areas on his lip and cheek.

He tries not to move, placing both hands flat on the counter behind you, caging you with his whole frame. This scene reminds you of the last time you were both here, the day that marked two months of seeing each other.

A day to forget, actually, because it devolved into a complete disaster.

“I got used to living with this voice in my head that sabotages me. I don’t know when it started. Part of me thinks it’s always been there. Sometimes it’s quieter. Other times, it’s so loud I can’t think straight. But I’ve never been able to shut it up completely.”

You take a shaky breath, putting down the cloth once it’s no longer useful. Clark doesn’t pull away, nor does he move closer. He remains right where he is, poised, his entire being waiting for what you’ll say next.

“I never feel like I deserve the good stuff that happens to me. I wish I did. God, I do. Perry even said he’s publishing the article I wrote and I still have to convince myself he’s not just doing it out of pity—”

His eyebrows lift, and he can’t help but cut you off. Wait—really? He’s publishing it?” A broad, genuine smile blooms on his face, almost illuminating the dimness of your apartment.  “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you. I was planning on telling you, but—you know.” Your gaze drifts to the symbol on his suit, and you trace it with a tentative finger, the synthetic material feeling utterly strange under your touch. “The thing is I overthink everything. Always have. And I don’t know if you’ll think I’m crazy or exhausting or whatever, but I can’t control it. I wish I could. So every time you went away, when you started canceling plans or looking at me like you were somewhere else entirely, I got scared.”

So this is what it feels like to truly open your heart to another soul.

“I thought that voice was right, and that you were pulling away because you regretted it because you’d realized I wasn’t worth the trouble. And maybe you just didn’t know how to tell me, since we work together, and we share the same friends. Plus, things between us have been—” Once again, your words tangle, and you internally blame the raw emotionality of the moment.  “I can’t get away from myself, Clark. But other people? They can walk away. And I thought that’s what you were doing.

There’s a pause, and his advice seems to be: “Don’t trust your brain.”

“What do you mean—”

“Don’t believe everything it tells you. I mean it. If you need me to tell you I love you, I will. If you need me to tell you how beautiful and sweet you are, I’ll do that too, and happily. Because I want to help you. It’s not like I can spare you from those thoughts—believe me, I would’ve if there were a way. The least I can do is make you realize that voice in your head isn’t always right.”

Some things cannot be put into words, and you simply have to act in their name. You kiss him, your arms finding their way around his neck, pulling him as close as possible as you smile against his lips, trying not to generate any pressure where he’s hurt as you say, “Shit, I love you so much.”

It’s incredible how one can transition from immense sadness to something that must closely resemble the deepest tranquility ever known to humankind. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with such fondness it could make you sick. You don’t know how someone can look so happy and so overwhelmed at once. “Say that again.”

“I love you.”

“Again. Please.”

You kiss him between each word, letting them stretch longer and deeper until your mouths can’t bear to part. “I. Love. You.”

He tilts your face toward his, his hand cradling the back of your head as if he’s afraid you’ll float away. “Please tell me your brain’s not saying anything right now.”

“It’s been surprisingly quiet.”

“Then let’s keep it that way.”

You make a strangled noise as the kiss turns fierce, not knowing exactly where to put your hands. There’s so much you want to do, so much of him you want to touch and skin to trace with your fingers. That simmering desire had grown between you both, never quite breaking through the surface. Not because you didn’t one want it, but because you'd asked him to hold back.

Remember that tiny voice in your brain? The mean one? That one had told you several times that you had to wait a certain amount of time before sleeping with him. Because if you didn’t, if you got too close too soon, he might realize he wasn’t into you. Physically speaking. And you had done just that: waited.

But now, all patience shatters. There’s no room for cautious stretching of things anymore, not when the man you love, the one you’ve been pining for months, stands before you

He doesn’t get the hint when you kiss back or when your teeth nip at the skin of his throat, not until you take his hands, which are resting politely on your lower back, and push them lower, guiding them up to cup your ass through the layers of clothing.

You hear the way he breathes out, a grunt caught somewhere between surprise and shock, as you shift even closer and speak softly over his lips. “I want to do it. Tonight.”

“Are you sure? Because we could totally—”

“Clark, stop being such a gentleman.” You tug him toward the couch and fall back onto it, kicking your shoes off without grace or ceremony, your heart gallops with anticipation as you stretch out, swallowing hard.“I’d like you to touch me, then I’d like to return the favor, and then I want you to fuck me. In that specific order,” you admit. So as not to lose the habit, you whisper the word that never fails to soften his expression: “Please.”

You notice the impressive bulge straining at the front of his suit, and he nods his head in earnest, one of his large hands pushing your thighs open. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Electricity now runs through your veins, each part of you igniting under his hands as he touches you. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t rip your clothes off or fall into cliché. He wants to take his time with you, grazing the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder. As his hair slips through your fingers like silk, you clutch at him, sighing into his touch. Your eyes flutter open to ask him: “Does the suit stay on?”

“Well, that depends,” he replies, lifting his head and meeting your wanting gaze. “Does it—turn you on?”

A low fire spirals in the pit of your stomach, your chest heaving with a shaky inhale. “It’s certainly doing the job.”

“So first you write about Superman like a professional journalist…” he trails off, his palm smoothing his palm over your stomach to undo the button of your jeans with ease, lowering the zipper of your jeans millimeter by millimeter, “... and now you get wet for him?”

Wiggling your hips to help him peel off your pants more easily, you gape at the ceiling momentarily. “I’m sorry. Do my inappropriate thoughts bother him?”

“I actually believe he’d very pleased, to be fair,” he murmurs, settling on the couch beside you. His hand returns, slower this time, tracing over the cotton that clings to your heat. “You see, he’s a simple man. Safe to say he’d really like you.”

Clark teases his thumb to your clit through the cotton and your back arches from the couch. “Clark, I—”

“I’ll go slow.” He presses his lips against yours briefly, running the length of his nose along yours, your skin buzzing where it brushes his. “Do you trust me?” You nod, unable to speak, struggling to keep your eyes open. He presses against you again, this time with purpose. Slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his free hand curling around your waist to keep you steady as you writhe beneath him, holding you down to the earth. “Then relax. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t a virgin, but he’s making you feel like one. Or maybe something even more tender than that, like you’re being touched properly for the first time in your life. Every graze of his fingers sends heat crawling under your skin, his ministrations alone having you whimpering into his neck, tugging at his hair.

“Take them off,” you beg, your hips bucking up to meet him, chasing his hand every time he attempts to pull away, needing more. It’s more of an instinct at this point.

He doesn’t make you ask twice, your underwear being gone in a flash and ending up dangling from one foot. He parts your folds, and you see his eyes darken with unfiltered awe, staring for a beat longer than expected. “Jesus,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’re gorgeous

Clark spreads your slick across your swollen flesh, his long fingers reverent in their exploration, never faltering. When he circles your clit again, raw and bare now, you jolt, the pleasure pulsing bright and fast, like you’re going to blow up at any given moment.

He seems to enjoy watching you squirm, listening to the whimpers torn from your throat. “You’ve got no idea how hot you look right now,” he pants beside your ear, voice ragged and affected by the noises he keeps pulling out of you. His own hips grind lazily against your thigh, the pressure of his cock unmistakable, rock hard behind the fabric. “I want to see you come.”

“Just—keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you gasp, clinging to his arm and biting back a moan when he kisses you languidly. A new wave of warmth runs under your skin, and you swear you can feel your blood rushing south. “Clark, I’m—don’t you dare stop.”

Your words spur him on, and he tightens the circles, faster now, his other hand closing around your inner thigh for leverage. That ache in your belly sharpens to a desperate pressure, and your whole body looms into him as if drawn to gravity itself.

“Oh my God—Clark—” You grip his shoulder, nails scrapping against the harsh material of his suit. It’s too much and not enough, and every time he flicks just right, you’re launched impossibly higher. You’re a panting mess, legs starting to tremble as pleasure coils tight in your gut.

“Come on, you’re almost there,” he encourages you, kissing your sweaty forehead. “You’re doing so good. Let go, baby.”

You break. It starts at your core, deep and volcanic, spreading like a spark catching on dry leaves. Your thighs clamp around his hand, head thrown back as the orgasm ripples through you, crying out his name with a sound borderline raw and unrestrained. He doesn't stop until your hips stop jerking and your back settles against the couch again, twitching with aftershocks.

You’re left gasping, eyes blurry, vision haloed in white. “I—” you try to speak, but your voice fails, coming out broken. Instead, you let out a sigh. “Jesus.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then slowly works his way up to your mouth.  “I came as well. Mentally.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of you, and you swat at his face, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re about to sit until you feel his breath ghost across your belly, shoving your shirt further up. You rake your hand through his fringe, brushing it back, hissing when his lips graze the patch of skin just above your clit. “Are you—”

“It’d be stupid not to take the opportunity.” He finds your legs and places them over his shoulders, effortlessly dragging your body to the edge of the couch, kneeling by the carpet and between your thighs, his large hands framing your hips.

Clark licks a broad stripe up your folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue, and you cry out, shoulders slumping forward from the overstimulation, still sensitive from your first orgasm. Yet he peers up at you with feigned innocence, kneading the flesh of your thighs. “I can stop if you want me to,” he says, a husky edge to his usual tone.

“Don’t want you to,” you purr, guiding his mouth to where you need him the most. “Make me feel good.”

Devotedly, devastatingly even, he takes your words to heart, lapping at your clit with careful, coaxing pressure, sometimes flicking with the pointed tip of his tongue, sometimes flattening it to trace languid strokes. He groans at the taste of you, sinking a finger into your heat and making you clench instinctively around the intrusion.

“It’s tight in here,” he ponders aloud, not sparing you a single glance, much more preoccupied with the way you’re squeezing him. “We’ll have to see if I’ll fit.”

You mean to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob the moment he adds another finger to the equation, and you can hear every single squelching sound your cunt makes in response to his movements.

“God, it feels—” Your voice cracks as his lips seal over your clit again, drawing firm circles around it, the pacing of his digits inside you forcing you to alternate your attention. “So good, Clark. You’re being so good to me.”

It’s not that you’re just saying these things out of pocket. You’ve noticed he likes it, likes being praised. Not only in this context, where he has his head buried between your legs, but it usually happened whenever he did something right, and you would be there, praising him, telling him he’d done a great job.

His pupils would dilate a little, and he’d always shut you up with a kiss, but he can’t right now. He seems to be destined to hear and acknowledge your words, nearly rutting into the edge of the couch the more you say. His desperation sets something alight in you, and it only makes you want to explore that side of him even more.

“If you make me come again, I’ll suck your cock,” you mumble, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp. You don’t miss how his shoulders stiffen through the suit, and he pushes his face deeper into your core. “I can’t wait to have you in my mouth,” you add, smiling through the haze.

“What’s got you this chatty, huh?” He pumps his fingers deeper, faster, a relentless rhythm designed to shatter your composure. His teeth scrape along the inside of your right thigh, seemingly enjoying the noise that reverberates in your chest as he bites gently on it. “You have Superman right here with you and all you do is talk.”

Three of Clark’s fingers stretch you out and you can’t no longer think straight. Neither can you breathe, having utterly forgotten how consonants and vowels combine to form words.

This, it seems, is precisely what he intended: to have you reduced to a writhing, desperate mess that can’t stop mewling his name over and over. The questions, the teasing, all of it is obliterated by the rising tide of pure sensation as your world narrows to his touch and everything it means.

When you tell him you’re close, the ache coiling tight in your belly for the second time in the night, every nerve in your body lights up. He’s a man on a quest, who whimpers in unison with you the more your breath staggers.

He asks you to come on his tongue, because he wants to know exactly what it tastes like. Because he simply must. He’s been fantasizing about this, he confesses, about touching himself thinking of you, about how soft your skin looked in your work clothes, about—

Your orgasm tears through you, fast and overwhelming, and you cling to his shoulders, riding out the tremors. His fingers remain deep inside you, and he curves them to hit that sweet spot one last time before you tell him it’s too much. His hair is mussed where your fingers yanked it, his chin glistening with your essence, and you tug him closer to kiss him, tasting yourself in the aftermath.

Somehow, without even breaking the kiss, he manages to peel the suit from his body, letting it fall in a heap beside your shoes on the floor. All that’s left is the snug fabric of his underwear, and the sight of him nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

You trail a hand down his abdomen, fingertips brushing along the faint trail of hair beneath his navel until they meet the solid outline of his cock. You palm him softly through the fabric, feeling the twitch of need under your touch.

Now that he’s bare before you, no more slouchy coats hiding him away, you take in the rest of him. The defined lines of his chest, the softness at his waist, the tension coiled in his thighs. It takes everything in you not to outright stare, not to drool, although your mouth waters anyway.

By the time he’s lying back on the couch, you’ve taken his place, kneeling between his legs. He laces his fingers behind his head, muscles taut like he’s trying to anchor himself there, to stop his hips from jerking up on instinct.

You start slow, teasing. Your fingers wrap around his shaft, stroking him lazily as your lips press hot kisses to the tip. You circle your tongue around it, dipping into the slit just to hear what kind of sound you can pull from him.

He exhales like he’s in pain. Beautiful, tortured pain. You hesitate for a split second, uncertain—was that too much?

“Do it again,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his chest rising in uneven pulls of air. “Please… that—Jesus, that feels really good.”

And you want to please him. You want to give him everything, so you do it again.

The head disappears past your lips. He groans as you sink down a few inches, his hips tensing immediately, and you hum in satisfaction at the sharp hiss he lets slip. You take more of him, then a little bit more, until you’re jerking the rest of him off with your hand, saliva slicking your chin, your throat fluttering and eyes stinging every time he brushes the back of it.

Swallowing around him, your nails scratch the line of dark hair that leads below his navel. There’s nothing delicate about this. Not right now, not when he’s chanting your name like a prayer, not when you’re dizzy from the taste of him. His breathy moans echo in your ears, more intoxicating than anything else you’ve ever heard.

At some point, you glance up, and the eye contact nearly undoes you. Clark looks ruined, entirely entranced. His brow is furrowed tight, a deep crease between his eyes that might’ve read as frustration if you didn’t know better.

To some stranger, he might even appear to be angry. His jaw is clenched, lips parted as if he’s struggling to form coherent thoughts. His hips tremble under your palms, twitching like every nerve in his body is firing at once. He’s holding himself still with impossible effort, his thighs taut, hands clawed into the couch cushions to stop from thrusting up into your mouth.

“Perhaps—” His voice is hoarse, and he swallows hard. “Perhaps we should stop.”

You slow your pace but don’t let go.

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he groans, neck strained, his composure cracking under the tension. “Not this fast. I want to last. I want—” He cuts himself off with a hiss when you press a wet kiss to the flushed head again, pulling back the foreskin. “God, I just want more time with you like this.

You keep your hand wrapped around him, dragging your palm slow and tight from base to tip, letting your thumb swirl over the sensitive slit. His hips twitch again, betraying how close he really is.

“But can’t Superman come twice?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He blinks, dazed, not fully registering the meaning of your words at first. You give him another firm stroke and watch his brows knit in pleasure. “It’s been a hard day.”

“Baby, I swear—”

“Didn’t you save an entire hospital tonight?” you whisper, leaning in to mouth at his hipbone. “Kept it from collapsing?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Yeah, I—yes.”

“Then you deserve it.”

“But twice?”

“You heard it right. Once in my mouth, just like this, and then again inside me.”

Clark makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. His arms collapse from behind his head, hands flying to his face, shielding himself from how hard words just hit him.

“Oh my God,” he mumbles, palms pressed to his eyes. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” you inquire, jerking him a little faster now. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not—” he lies, breath catching when your lips part around his cock once again, still not getting used to the feeling. “I just—I’m so close.”

One of his hands finds your hair, smoothing it back from your face with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. He cups the back of your head as if he’s holding something sacred, brushing his thumb along your temple as his other hand clenches the couch cushion.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your movements, still stroking your hair. “You don’t—you don’t even know what you do to me. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your hand tightens around his base just a little, urging him closer to the edge. He grits his teeth, unable to hold on any longer.

“I’m sorry—be careful, I’m gonna—”

He empties his load into your mouth, hips stuttering in jerky thrusts. His entire body tenses beneath you, trembling as the pleasure crashes through him, head tipped back against the couch. Clark comes for what feels like ages, pulse after pulse of heavy release filling your mouth, and you take it all, letting the salty taste land on your tongue and flood your senses.

Shortly after, everything moves in a blur. Clark insists that the couch isn’t ideal for what’s about to happen. Something about angles, support, long-term consequences for your spine. You, naturally, insist you’re perfectly fine where you are.

In the end, the one with super strength settles the debate. Which is to say: he wins. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms and carries you to the bedroom like it’s the most obvious solution. The couch had been fine. Serviceable, even, but it was time for an upgrade.

Now, sprawled across your bed, you kiss beneath the warm press of blankets. Pre-cum smears over your stomach, leaking from him in needy dribbles as he hovers above you, holding his weight on his forearms, cradling your face between his hands.

His voice is low.  “Just to be clear. We’re not using a…?”

“Condom?”

He nods, cheeks flushed. “Yeah.”

“I told you you could come inside me.”

That stuns him into silence. “Are you sure? Want me to—go buy some?” he manages, faltering a little.

“Some?” you echo, amused. Your gaze dips down his body, landing on the leaking head of his cock, his hips twitching as if straining to stay still. “I’m on birth control,” you murmur.

He blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You can almost hear the gears in his head grinding, trying to decide whether or not you’re serious.

“I mean it. It wasn’t for sexual purposes in the beginning. I’ve been on the pill for years. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“What exactly makes you think I don’t want this?”

“Say that to your face. You’re looking at me like I just proposed a blood pact.”

Huffing a breath, he pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “So… we’re doing it. Like this.”

“Yes.”

“Bare.”

“Would you like to see my birth certificate?”

He lets out a strangled laugh, one hand sliding down to part you gently. His fingers glide through your folds, collecting your slick to lube himself up. Just as he’s about to wretch your entrance, he pauses, brows drawn tight. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready since we left the couch.”

“You can’t be joking when I’m this close to being inside you.”

“Clark,” you plead, lifting your hips. “Please, just—”

He pushes in.

At first, it’s just the tip. The stretch is instant, unavoidable, and you throw your head back, nearly knocking into the headboard.

“Easy,” he grits out. “Be careful.” His thighs tremble where they cage you in, and he slides in another inch, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Th-that’s—fuck—” Your mouth hangs agape briefly before you shut it again. You can’t even think, eyes landing on where your bodies meet, and his whole frame looks huge on top of you, the sight alone making you whimper. “Clark, please—”

“Wait.” He stills, tearing his gaze away from you, squeezing his eyes shut. “I need a second.”

“Want me to kiss you?”

He lifts his head slightly. “Are you the devil?”

You bite your lip, fingers digging into the muscles of his lower back. “What are you doing? Counting?”

“To a million.” He buries his face in your neck, forehead damp against your skin, feeding the rest of himself into you in shallow thrusts, and the final stretch burns as he bottoms out. “You’re impossible sometimes,” he growls against your skin, groaning as you clench around him. “Jesus, you’re still so tight. I don’t even—I don’t know how to move.”

A desperate sound slips from your lips when his mouth brushes behind your ear. His hand strokes up your thigh, bending you slightly beneath him, folding you open. “You’re so big.”

His arm trembles beside your head. A bead of sweat trails down his temple as you comb your fingers into his hair. “Don’t say that,” he pants.

“Why not?”

“Because—” he pulls back, just the head left inside, “—you’re playing with fire.” And then he slams his hips forward, hard, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. “I usually like how you always have something to say, but right now? I just want to fuck you. If that’s okay with you.”

It’s official: your long, unplanned celibacy ends here. Courtesy of Superman himself.

As if he’s learning you by heart, each thrust is measured and unhurried, his hips rolling into yours with a careful intent and setting their own tempo, savoring the way your bodies fit, the subtle give and take of your curves.

Your breath hitches when he finds it: that angle, that precise, exquisite spot inside you, and your legs instinctively tighten around his waist in response. A groan slips from him when your walls flutter around him in gratitude.

He starts to unravel. His body writhes against yours with an instinct he hadn’t dared show before now, his muscles working as he moves deeper, hungrier, shedding the last vestiges of his gentle restraint. You press your chest to his, fingers splayed across the flex of his back, memorizing the slope of his spine, the tremble in his arms as he struggles to hold himself back. Every sound he makes, every choked whimper, every whine he later tries to mask, you trap in your memory like precious treasure.

The moment he buries himself to the hilt, you swear you’re going to snap in half. The fullness is dizzying, and you cry out his name in a quiet plea. His lips graze your cheek, his hand smoothing your hair as he whispers something you can’t quite catch, lost in the roar of blood in your ears.

It’s not rushed at all. He’s learning you second by second, mapping your responses, and each time he shifts the angle or tilts your pelvis just so, it steals another moan from you. He knows now. Where to press, where to grind, where to thrust until your feet curl and your throat aches from trying to hold in the sounds.

“Clark,” you mewl, voice torn and trembling. A strand of his hair, dark and damp, sticks to the shell of your ear. He shifts to kiss you there and then stills, forehead resting against yours.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he chokes out, the words raw and fragile in comparison to your heated skin.

The confession pierces you with more precision than anything else tonight. Your body is still pulsing around him, hips still twitching and asking for more, but your heart stutters, aching with sudden clarity.

You don’t know if he means that night you stopped talking, the agonizing silence between you. If he means the days you went quiet and he watched from afar. You cradle his face in both hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones, forcing him to peer down at you. His pupils are blown, his mouth swollen from all the kissing, and you feel a pang in your chest because he’s never looked so vulnerably human.

“You didn’t. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His throat bobs, and pushes in again, quivering, a silent affirmation of your words.

It’s like something breaks open inside him. The last of his control gives way.

His thrusts get rougher, more insistent, his mouth finding yours mid-moan, and you kiss him through the frantic rhythm, through the way his hand slides between your sticky bodies to circle your clit, hoping to make you fall apart. He needs this—needs you to come around him, to feel you clench and call his name and prove to him you’re his. That you chose him. That you’re still here. That you're real.

You’re close. So close that the precipice looms. “Don’t stop,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“I won’t. I won’t—” His groan catches in his throat, escaping as a raw whisper. “You feel so good. You’re perfect. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this to you.”

The pressure builds so fast it becomes borderline unbearable. Heat coils in your belly, every muscle taut as a bowstring, straining toward release.

“I—Clark—I—” Your body arches, back lifting off the bed.

“Come on,” he begs, short of breath, his hips grinding relentlessly. “Come for me. I want to feel you.”

And when it hits, it crashes. Your orgasm blindsides you, flashing behind your eyelids, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream, body trembling violently under him as incandescent pleasure tears through you like a searing current. Your walls spasm around him, squeezing, and he cries out a primal sound of absolute abandon before surging forward with a final thrust and spurting his release inside you.

It’s messy. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and glorious.

He collapses, half on top of you, still deeply buried, his body spamming in unison with yours. You’re both left shaking and sweating, but in the most magnificent way.

Clark plants a series of tender kisses to the valley between your breasts, the soft underside of your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he murmurs, awe coloring every syllable.

You press your nose to his hairline, drawing in the scent of him. “Me neither,” you reply, contentment curling in your chest.

He simply stays there, wrapped around you, his weight a comforting anchor. The moment stretches and neither of you dares speak too loud for a while. It’s the kind of silence that means everything.

Eventually, he lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze. His lashes are damp, a quiet sigh leaving him, and with an almost reluctant pull, he finally shifts, easing himself out of you. The sudden emptiness is palpable, an ache that makes you want to reach for him again, but he’s already moving, surprisingly graceful as he rises. He glances around your bedroom, then towards the bathroom.

“Want me to get a towel?” he asks, gesturing vaguely between your legs. “A wet one, ideally.”

You blink, chest lifting with a giggle. “Oh, right. Yeah, bathroom cabinet, bottom shelf.” You watch him disappear, the absurdity of the moment deeply endearing. He emerges a moment later, a small hand towel clutched in his fist, already damp, and he kneels back between your legs, cleaning you.

The warm cloth against your skin sends a fresh shiver through you, but it’s his focused, unselfconscious tenderness that melts your insides. He looks up, an apologetic grimace on his face. “I just realized I don’t exactly have a change of clothes on me.”

You trace his jaw, the curve of his ear. “Well, I mean,” you muse, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, “we could always see how you look in my pajamas. I’m sure my oversized college sweatshirt would be… form-fitting.”

“I don't think you’re ready for that sight.” He pats your inner thigh, then rises, tossing it to the side. “Come on. Let’s get into bed.”

You slide under the blankets, the silk against your bare skin a welcoming sensation. He joins you immediately, the mattress dipping under his weight, and pulls you close, your bodies spooning, limbs tangling. His arm finds its way around your waist, his hand splayed flat against your stomach. Your fingers twine with his, and your leg hooks over his, pressing your hip to his.

There’s a moment in which you turn your head on the pillow, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He now lies on his side, facing you, one hand tucked beneath his head.

“I love you,” you say again, the words unbidden.

A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his tired eyes. He pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then looks down at you. “You know those people who use songs as their alarm?”

“What does that have to do with what I just said?”

“They say you should always choose a song you’ll never get tired of.I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say those words.”

“That… was a weird route to get there.”

He kisses the tip of your nose, lingering on your lips shortly after. “I’m just saying. You could say it every day. Every hour. And I’d never get sick of it.” His thumb strokes your hand and you melt into him, every molecule of your being sighing in tranquility. “By the way,” he says, his tone sounding hesitant, “I told my parents about you.”

You pull back, just slightly, enough to stare up at him, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline. “Wait. What?”

“It was like a week ago.”

“We weren’t even speaking.”

He lets out a small, sheepish chuckle. “I know. But I still thought about you all the time. My mom scolded me through the phone for not telling you the truth sooner.” His nose crinkles, probably remembering the call. “They said they’d really like to meet you someday.”

“So, our first trip together is going to be… Kansas?”

“Smallville,” he corrects proudly. “What can I say? I’m a traditional guy.”

“Well, to be a ‘traditional guy,’ you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”

“Oh. Right. I guess I—”

“Are you going to?”

“I—would you want to?”

You laugh, pulling him into a kiss. “You’re such a dork.”

When you break apart, he’s smiling—really smiling, the kind that lights up his whole face and carves deep dimples into his cheeks.

“So is that a yes?”

“Yes, Clark. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Okay. Good. Because I’m already very emotionally invested.”

At that moment, you snort into his chest. Sleep begins to pull at your limbs, heavy and soft, and your eyes flutter closed without resistance. His arms tucks your head beneath his chin, his breath steady against your hair, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet. No anxious spirals. No fear of him vanishing now that you’ve let your guard down. Just stillness.

Maybe it’s true, what the wise ones say: you’re never too much in the hands of the right person.

Somehow, it feels even truer in his.

dividers by: @bbyg4rlhelps <3

[yakuly]

𝕯𝖔𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖍𝖆 é 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖘𝖔

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Idol!Jaemin x Idol!Fem.Reader x Idol!Jeno

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 4.313

𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖊: Ser uma idol pela SM é saber que caso seu grupo tenha sucesso com suas promoções, terá a chance de se apresentar no tão comentado festival próprio: "SM Town" - o que felizmente é o seu caso. Os shows do evento são únicos! Cada grupo tem uma tracklist especial, stages diferentes, oportunidade de colaborações novas, e o que é negligenciado pelo twitter...as novas amizades feitas nos bastidores. Alguns artistas já possuem suas próprias relações complicadas, e você está prestes a iniciar e talvez se complicar com uma amizade bem conhecida. Jeno e Jaemin que inconscientemente se aproximam da mais nova queridinha da empresa, e são surpreendidos com uma saborosa proposta de dobradinha.

𝕬𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖘: Pornô com muuito puco plot; Jeno é mais dominante e Jaemin é mais submisso, enquanto a leitora é meio brat com o Jeno e dominante com Jaemin; linguagem incrivelmente imprópria; sexo vaginal; sexo sem proteção (pessoas bonitas e não ficcionais usam proteção!!); penetração dupla; me avisem se esqueci alguma coisa;

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗: @uzmacchiato

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖆: Oii gente, tudo bem? Demorei tanto tempo pra terminar isso aqui que chega a ser ridiculo! Maaaas espero que gostem mesmo assim, assim como também espero conseguir trazer mais coisas por aqui, já que estou de férias por alguns dias. Aproveitem a história :)

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖆²: A inspiração veio desse vídeo esse aqui: 💌 e um tantinho da interação dos três de "challengers" (aí Carol mas você já viu o filme? Não. Mas vem com a mãe que dá bom 🙂‍↕️)

Ser idol da Sm assim como muitos dos amigos que fez durante anos da indústria, e participar da SmTown se mostra cada vez mais divertido. O que você quase não imaginava antes de ntrar para a industria, é que os bastidores são ainda mais divertidos que palcos!

Entre uma performance e outra, as entradas e saídas de grupos e stages, Na Jaemin se aproximou de você enquanto esperava junto a Seulgi a sua vez de retornar para uma apresentação. Ele mantinha um lindo sorriso no rosto, do tipo que faz todas as garotas derreterem, e você, é claro uma delas.

"Sabe, eu sei que a gente só começou a se falar recentemente, mas eu acho que agente tem muita coisa em comum... o que acha da gente se ver essa noite? Sabe, conversar e se conhecer um pouco mais... ver um filme..."

Pode ter sido o tom de voz, a mão delicada afastando uma mecha do seu cabelo do rosto, o sorriso enquanto olhava para seus lábios, ou a sugestão de um filme , mas algo dentro de você te diziam que as suas intenções não eram tão inocentes quanto pareciam, não que isso te incomodava, mas o que te pegou de surpresa foi o primeiro e único Lee Jeno se aproximou de você não muito depois, com o mesmo discurso, mas com uma abordagem bem diferente de Jaemin:

O moreno se aproveitou da diferença de altura entre vocês dois, e abusou da desculpa de "muito barulho" para poder falar bem mais perto de você, colando ambos os corpos, e colocando a mão na sua cintura, no momento de propor uma noite tranquila.

E quem pode te julgar? Você é apenas uma garota, afinal! Uma garota sendo encarada por um Jaemin e por um Jeno extremamente confusos na sua porta de hotel.

" S/n eu acho que você não entendeu..." Jeno começa a falar, uma vez que os dois entram. Ambos parados te observando, enquanto você sorri ao se sentar na ponta da cama.

"Ah não eu entendi, entendi muito bem aliás!" Seu sorriso aumenta ainda mais, com sua clara diversão á perplexidade visível nos dois rostos "Eu só pensei, como vocês queriam uma noite comigo" aponta para si "e eu queria uma noite com vocês" fez o sinal de dois apontando para os morenos "porque não juntar o útil ao... agradavel?!"

Jeno e Jaemin ficam estáticos te observando. As palavras e a situação fazendo download em seus cérebros. Não importa oque tinham imaginado para essa noite,  um ménage a trois definitivamente não estava na lista!

Sim, os dois eram melhores amigos e confiariam suas vidas um ao outro e há uma certeza implícita que se fariam um sexo a três, seria um com o outro, mas hoje? Não estavam preparados mentalmente para tal!

Mas seria tão ruim assim? Os dois definitivamente te acham gostosa, ou não teriam feito tal proposta, muito menos estariam no seu quarto, te encarando, ponderando...até de mais.

O primeiro a tomar iniciativa é Jaemin. O rapaz de cabelos cobres foi até a sua direção em passos decididos, e quando está a sua frente, segura seu rosto levando seu rosto em sua própria direção, colando ambos os lábios. Primeiro Na apenas encosta lábio com lábio, testando qual seria sua reação, e se você falava sério. Quando viu como suas pupilas dilataram, e soltou um grunido baixo, Jaemin passou a beija-la,  muito mais necessitado. O rapaz buscava por seus lábios gemendo e aproveitando o gosto do seu gloss.

No momento em que você levou uma de suas mãos para sua nuca, onde começou a brincar com os cabelos ali, Jaemin se rendeu sentindo os joelhos vacilarem, e ele praticamente cair ajoelhado a seus pés;

" Tão bonito..." você murmura contra os lábios carnudos e agora brilhantes do rapaz. "Tão gostoso..." depois de muito custo se afasta do beijo, percebendo a posição de Jaemin te fez sorrir, afinal não imaginava que ele seria do tipo submisso como estava se mostrando. Segura o rosto dele, e começa a distribuir bejinhos pelo rosto macio;

Quando sua boca chega no pescoço do moreno, continuou a distribuir beijos, com lambidas mordidas e muitos elogios , respondidos com arqueijos, e as grandes mãos nas suas coxas a apertavam, fazendo seu desejo aumenta cada vez mais causando arrepios por todo seu corpo.

Você segura o rosto do rapaz com ambas as mãos, amando a forma como ele parecia te adorar com o olhar, as pupilas dilatadas, ou respiração ofegante, ao olhar passeando por todo seu rosto.

"Você vai ser um bom garoto pra mim Jaemin-shi?" Sorri acariciando a bochecha do rapaz, que inclina o rosto contra seu toque te satisfazendo "Tudo bem, porque não me mostra o quanto me quer, hum?"

Jaemin se levanta te puxando junto. Os lábios do rapaz voltam a devorar os seus, desesperado. Na usa suas mãos fortes para te segurar contra ele, te fazendo sentir a ereção contra sua barriga. O jeito como ele te prendia, o permitia apertar tudo o que conseguia alcançar : sua cintura, sua bunda, suas coxas.

Jaemim encontra seu lugar sensível abaixo da orelha, te fazendo gemer de surpresa, som que o moreno jurou ser o paraíso. Começando a ficar impaciente, você se afasta, apenas o suficiente para ele reclamar, se você conseguir se livrar da camiseta que ele vestia, e da sua também.

"Porra!" Na murmura maravilhado com a visão dos seus seios cobertos pelo sutiã preto, perfeitos para ele. Sem hesitar Jaemin começa a deixar beijos e mordidas no pele que a peça não cobria, aproveitando para os palpar, tirando o ar dos seus pulmões. Enquanto isso, Você usa a meia nudez do rapaz para passar os seus dedos sob esse abdomem tão perfeitamente esculpido. Jaemin encontrou o paraiso nos seus seios, se livrando do sutiã que o impedia de se aproveitar como bem queria.

De repente o ar é roubado dos seus pulmões em surpresa, quando sua cabeça é puxada para trás com um delicioso puxão de cabelo, que a arrepia e a faz revirar os olhos gemendo;

" Vou te contar umas coisinhas docinho, " Jeno segurava seu cabelo firme em sua mão esquerda, com o feição dura te observando com pupilas dilatadas. com a mão direita ele segura seu rosto pelo maxilar a obrigando a manter seu rosto no lugar, já que insistia em se mexer porque Jaemin continuava com seu peito na mão e boca "Não gosto de ser enganado, muito menos ignorado. "

Ele se surpreende com o tamanho do sorriso que abre "É? Acontece que não enganei ninguém , e não é minha culpa se jaemin - shi é um garoto tão bom!" A enfaze que dá nas últimas faz Jaemin gemer contra sua pele, te arrepiando.

"Você precisa aprender a ser menos vadia", a mão de Jeno puxa ainda mais seus cabelos para logo os soltar abrutamente "Jaemin tira o resto da roupa dela, e deita na cama"

Apesar da ordem partir do amigo, o mais novo olha para você em busca de aprovação, e só se mexe quando te vê concordando. Sem conseguir controlar o boca você solta: "Olha, parece que o nosso Jaemin prefere a mim..." seu tom zombateiro e sobrancelha erguida fazem Jeno rir com escárnio e murmurar alguma coisa sobre Jae não ser propriedade dele "É... acho que vou manter ele só pra mim "

O mais novo que tinha acabado de te despir e estava prestes a se deitar é puxado para mais um beijo seu, apenas para salientar seu ponto, e provocar os nervos de Lee.

"Eu disse que podia beijar ele agora?" Jeno separa os dois por ambas as nucas, ouvindo gemidos dos dois lados.

" Você não manda em mim " Tenta argumentar Jeno lambe sua boca e fala contra a mesma: " hoje eu mando, docinho"

Jeno sorri trazendo um arrepio a sua coluna, ansiosa pelo o que ele será capaz. O moreno faz Jaemin se deitar no cama, os pés na direção  da cabeceira. Seu plano inicial era aproveitar a boca faminta de Jaemmin para o auxiliar, mas já que ele claramente obedeceria apenas você, encontrou outra forma de torturar os dois: Você foi colocada sentada no abdomem definido de Na, sentindo a definição do musculo te estimular deliciosamente. O tal rapaz geme, segurando sua cintura, a movendo lentamente em cima do próprio corpo;

"É claro que você ia gostar ..." Jeno murmura, mas você não sabe pra quem exatamente, ja que tanto voce quanto Jaemin tinham sorrisos largos no rosto. O mais velho segura seu pescoço, apertando firme, tirando o ar dos seus pulmões. "Você vai me deixar foder essa garganta linda" ele diz próximo ao seu rosto, e só então você percebe que Lee se despiu por completo, o corpo parecendo que foi esculpido por um Deus grego, te dando águia na boca, "E você " o moreno se abaixa para falar com Jaemin " Não vai gozar agora."

Jeno te puxa, trazendo sua cabeça na altura da sua pélvis. O membro do rapaz estava completamente duro. Você observa com olhos famintos ele se acariciar, espalhando pré-gozo por toda sua longa dimensão, e você já começa a pensar em uma desculpa para uma possível perca de vez no show de amanhã.

Lee ama ver como o seu olhar exala desespero para o abocanhar, e te tortura um pouco mais, segurando seu falo dando leves batidas contra sua bochecha, primeiro do lado direito, depois do esquerdo, observando como sua respiração fica desnivelada.

"Chupa" Jeno ordena segurando o próprio membro a frente do seu rosto , recebendo um sorriso satisfeito seu antes de finalmente o colocar na boca, e porra! Quando coloca o pênis de Jeno na boca, começa com a cabeça inchada e brilhante, sentindo seu gosto almiscarado. Passando a preencher sua boca com o que conseguia do membro, gemendo e ouvindo o moreno soltar um som baixo, mas grutal.

Ficando sem paciência, Lee gira seu cabelo no pulso, transformando um rabo de cavalo, e com um breve aviso, o moreno começa a se mover, primeiro lentamente para testar como você se comporta. Quando ele sente você relaxar mais o maxilar, perde o controle e assume uma velocidade muito mais rápida e acertiva.

Jaemin por outro lado começa a se sentir negligenciado e torturado, tendo o seu corpo deliciosamente em cima do seu, sentido seu calor emanar para ele, mas sem poder fazer muito além de ouvir seus gemidos enquanto Jeno fode sua boca e garganta tomando toda sua atenção. Conforme você era movimentada pelo outro rapaz, tanto Na quanto você sentiam seu centro contra o abdômen sarado, sendo constantemente estimulada, tendo sua excitação melecar toda a pele branca. Cansado o mais novo leva um de seus seios até a boca, brincando com o mamilo, enquanto o outro recebe a atenção da sua mão.

Sendo estimulada intensamente por Jaemin e suas habilidades, e o membro delicioso de Jeno na boca, você começa a gemer sem se preocupar com seu volume, e sem perceber Jaemin começa a gemer junto, o que te incita mais.

Enquanto Jeno foca em como o próprio pau desaparece na sua boca, suas bochechas ficam ruborizadas, e seus olhos enchem de lágrimas, jaemin sorrateiramente se livra de seus jeans e cueca. Você sente o membro do mais novo encaixar entre na sua bunda, mas sem te penetrar, apenas aproveitando a movimentação que fazia para o estimular.

Jeno percebeu que tinha algo de errado, quando os gemidos de Jaemin começaram a ficar mais altos que os seus. Tirando seu rosto da própria pélvis, ele olha incrédulo para Jaemin, enquanto você ri fascinada com a situação.

"Tudo bem, tudo bem...querem me desobedecer? Sem problema..."

Jeno reclama segurando a ponte do nariz perfeito, enquanto você se defende "Hey! Eu não fiz nada!"

"Não, mas deixou ele se aproveitar. Agora deita pra la" o moreno manda e você obedece rolando os olhos, mas fazendo mesmo assim, pois nada te faria parar essa noite.

Quando se deita confortavelmente nos travesseiros, Jeno a faz apoiar os pés no colchão e abre suas pernas, a expondo para os dois, fazendo um leve rubor subir as bochechas. O mais velho manda Jaemin te chupar, como se tivesse o informando que o jantar está pronto. E Jaemin parceria faminto;

Na se colou em seu centro, colocando suas pernas em cimo dos próprios ombros, abraço sua cintura, o que te impossibilita de se mover.

No exato momento em que a hora do rapaz entra em contato com a sua intimidade, ele o faz com ânsia, lambendo sua boceta enquanto murmura coisas desconexas. Automaticamente você suas mãos vão para a cabeça de Jaemin, tentando o afastar mesmo que levemente, mas Jeno te impede, pegando-as e prendendo seus pulsos cima da cabeça, enquanto sorri para você, acariciando sua bochecha

"Você não queria seu bom garoto? Agora você vai ver que precisa ter muito cuidado com o que anda desejando, meu amor"

Seu olhar vai do moreno para o mais novo. Jaemin que parecia estar levemente distraido pela breve conversa, sorri quando seus olhos voltam para ele. Você percebe o quão fodida está, quando o olhar de Na se torna obscuro e ele se arruma na cama, te levando junto.

Na posição atual, você estava deitada com os pulsos presos por Jeno, enquanto Jaemin estava sentado apoiado nas próprias pernas, com a boca agarrada na sua intimidade. O rapaz usava a língua para te sabaroear, enquanto o nariz te proporcionava prazer, estimulando seu clitóris. O jeito com que ele te olhava, te excitava ainda mais, te fazendo entrar em um transe de prazer.

"Olha só, finalmente a nossa bonequinha ficou sem retrucar!" Jeno solta uma risada, aproximando o rosto do seu e finalmente pela primeira vez na noite ele te beija, engolindo seus gemidos altos.

Jaemin que não gosta de ter sua atenção roubada pelo amigo, passa a dar atenção exclusive ao seu clitóris, fazendo movimentos circulares e precisos. Surpresa, com a onda mais forte de prazer, não consegue mais beijar Jeno, gemendo muito mais alto, e ficando completamente sem ar, deixando o moreno o confuso, até o momento em que gemeu o nome de Na.

"J-jaemin...porra..." você tenta falar algo, pedir pra ele parar, mas não consegue, o escutando apenas murmurar deliciado com seu gosto. Na começa a murmurar "doce...", "gostosa", "perfeita" era o que todos no quarto escutavam.

O prazer que Jaemin estava te proporcionando era tanto, que mal conseguia falar, apenas gemer, e erguer a coluna do colchão. O moreno estava seduzido por suas expressões, mostrando o quão fodida está. O sorriso de Lee poderia te enganar se não fosse a situação, o seu toque? Tão suave como uma pluma passando por suas bochechas e seios, enrijecendo seus mamilos.

"Se eu soubesse que era só isso que precisaria pra te calar, teria feito assim que abriu essa boquinha linda!" Sussurra no seu ouvido, fazendo seus olhos rolarem, e você bem que gostaria de retrucar, mas seu clímax estava bem próximo, então sua única reação foi tentar mais uma vez desvencilhar-se do agarro de Jeno, se contorcendo sem sucesso. "Ela tá perto, faz ela gozar, Jaem" ele manda.

A última coisa que escuta antes de seu corpo convulcionar, é Na Jaemin grunhir te agarrando muito mais forte contra o próprio rosto. Jeno precisa repreender Jaemin com o olhar para o rapaz finalmente deixar seu corpo cair na cama. Ambos te observam em seu estado pós orgasmo, sua pele brilhando com o suor, o peito subindo e descendo tentando organizar sua respiração, os olhos fechados em puro deleite.

Abrindo os olhos, você os encontra ali, te encarando, e jura que poderia gozar novamente só de ver o rosto de Jaemin: pupilas dilatas, o rosto brilhando com sua lubrificação formando uma barba brilhosa. Usando a pouca força que tinha, você se senta na cama, esticando a mão para tocar o rosto do mais novo, sorrindo mancinha, "Tão lindo..." Jaem não só sorri contra sua palma, como também se deita sobre você, te beijando, de modo doce, te arrepiando da cabeça aos pés.

"De novo, não gosto de ser deixado de lado!" Jeno reclama, te surpreendendo quando ele encaixa a boca entre você e Jaemin, em um beijo triplo. Os dois mal percebem quando você se afasta lentamente do ósculo, fazendo com que as bocas masculinas se explorem por alguns segundos bem na sua frente.

"Assim eu vou ficar com ciumes" sua voz soa em meio ao som do beijo, claramente zombando com a cara dos dois, Jeno e Jaemin se separam em de supetão, enquanto você ri da cara dos dois que ficam vermelhos, "Ah, não façam assim, ainda preciso de vocês pra me foder..." faz biquinho e segura ambos os rostos, aproximando os três "juntos" e finaliza a frase com uma lambidas em ambas as bocas.

"Acho que Jaemin não fez um bom trabalho se já está falando tão sujo assim "Jeno provoca ao passo que o amigo responde "se você fosse tão bom fodendo a boca dela, não ia nem precisar de mim"

"Chega! Chega!" Separa os dois se ajoelhando na cama, manda Jaemin se deitar na cama novamente, o que ele só faz após deixar um beijo provocador em você. No momento em que ia se deitar em cima do corpo de Na, Jeno lança um tapa forte em uma das suas nádegas, estalando alto no quarto, e te fazendo gemer alto, jogando a bunda em direção do moreno automaticamente. "Não, não, ele já teve a diversão dele. Agora você vai me olhar enquanto a gente te fode." Você rola os olhos, mas dá um selinho no rapaz.

Obriga Jeno se sentar, juntando ambos os pênis, os masturbar juntos, ouvindo os dois gemerem em uníssono, Jaemin  com um jeitinho mais necessitado que Jeno que soa mais rouco, como se estivesse se segurando. Sorrindo você se aproxima do ouvido de Jeno sussurrando "Por que não me deixa te ouvir melhor?" Aproveita da brecha para beijar e morder o pescoço dele, mantendo o movimento lânguido das mãos.

"Por que eu não sou patético" Jeno retruca te puxando pelos cabelos da nuca, e levando seu rosto para um beijo sujo e molhado. Mesmo rolando os olhos, você sorri, e o provoca mais uma vez: "mas eu gosto tanto dos patéticos...não é Jaem?!"

Em resposta o mais novo te responde com um choramingo necessitado. Você leva o pau dele a boca, sentindo o gosto do pré gozo que já melecava sua mão. Enquanto mantinha o ritmo lento na masturbacao de Jeno, focou sua atenção no membro de Jaemin que já estava vermelho e vazando pré-gozo, seu pau enchendo sua boca. "Porra, sua boca é tão quente." ele gemeu, sua cabeça balançando para cima e para baixo.

Você murmura, as vibrações da sua boca doce fizeram os quadris de Jaemin se erguerem, seu pau batendo no fundo da sua garganta. "Ah, porra!" ele jogou a cabeça para trás, no prazer da sua boca quente. Jaemin não conseguia falar nada, apenas te olhar, e ver que causou isso para si mesmo. Ele agarrou a parte de trás da sua cabeça, guiando sua cabeça, empurrando você mais para baixo em seu comprimento. "Porra! Ela tem uma boca tão gostosa, não é?" Ele comenta se direcionando a Jeno, quando você começa a deixar beijos na coxa dele, mas Lee apenas murmura algo nada feliz, mesmo que tivesse com seus dedos te penetrando, sentindo o quão molhada estava, e se aproveitando para tirar uma casquinha de você.

Após o que pareceu uma eternidade, você se levanta deixando ambos os membros próximos à sua entrada. Você sabe o que quer, mas também sabe que não será fácil ter os dois paus consideravelmente grossos e grandes dentro de si, então para tomar coragem, brinca com os dois, fazendo movimentos de vai e vem com eles, e estimulando seu clitóris com o pau de Jeno.

Finalmente começa a sentar em ambos os membros, lentamente. Torturosamente lento. Os sons do quarto foram substituídos de gemidos altos e clamações de nomes, agora só escutavam suas próprias respirações, todas entrecortadas. Para os meninos por que nunca se sentiram ser tão apertados por alguém, e você por que nunca foi tão preenchida antes.

Quando conseguiu colocar os dois de vez, precisou parar por alguns instantes, o que os dois agradeceram internamente ou então teriam gozado na hora. Lentamente Jaemin se sentou melhor, arrancando arfadas e gemidos seus, já que o sentia dentro de si.

"Você é tão boa, meu amor!" Ele murmura em seu ouvido, tirando seus cabelos molhados do seu ombro e começou a dar beijos carinhosos pelo local, te causando arrepios, e fazendo com que você se derreta cada vez mais por ele. Na estava fazendo um excelente trabalho te distraindo que mal registra suas palavras: "Jeno por que não me ajuda a arruinar nossa bonequinha?"

E logo em seguida o moreno está a sua frente, deixando beijos do seu outro lado do corpo, em uma diferença quase brutal. Enquanto Na Jaemin te beijava docemente, falava coisas bonitas, e leves mordiscadas na sua pele, Lee Jeno te agarrava, mordia, deixava chupões e te chamava das piores coisas possíveis. Sua cabeça girava com tanto estímulo, que começou a rebolar lentamente, em busca de alívio, e lembrando na hora do motivo ao qual estavam tão próximos.

"Porra! Tá sentindo Jeno? Nosso brinquedinho está ficando ainda mais molhada..." Jaem comenta maravilhado. Ele te segura pela cintura, e se estivesse um pouco mais consciente teria percebido que eles claramente planejavam algo.

Jeno e Jaemin começam a estocar juntos, e você quase cai pra trás, se ambos não tivessem te segurando, e se não tivesse o próprio corpo de Jaemin atrás de você. Seus gemidos são mais altos ainda, e finalmente consegue escutar os gemidos de Jeno, no seu ouvido, grutais, mas ainda sim controlado. Jaemin por outro lado, gemia alto, rouco, mas sem vergonha nenhuma.

Os dois estocavam fundo, te fazendo sentir cada um deles, em todo lugar. Mãos, lábios, dedos, pênis, Jaemin, Jeno, Jaemin, Jeno...

"Go...go...eu vou..." tentou avisar que ia gozar, e os dois pararam. Você os olha confusa, e Jeno puxa seu rosto para o dele e murmura: "já que inventou da gente fazer isso juntos, vamos gozar juntos, querida" e te beijou, mas surpreendentemente não foi como os beijos que te deu a noite toda, foi mais um ósculo calmo, sedutor.

Eles voltaram a se movimentar, dessa vez mais firmes e fundos. Jaemin te puxou pela nuca, te beijando apressado, e chupando sua língua de um jeito erótico. Você se tornou apenas uma bonequinha nas mãos dos dois, conforme Jaemin controlava sua boca e brincava com um de seus mamilos, Lee estimulava o outro, e estimulava seu clitóris.

Sentiu o nó no estômago mais uma vez, e se contorcia em prazer, mas dessa vez ninguém parou, apenas seguiu o mesmo ritmo, alternando em diferentes estímulos.

Finalmente gozou, sentindo os espamos tomarem conta de seu corpo, e mal captou quando os dois gozaram também, seus líquidos te preenchendo violentamente. Você deve ter apagado ppr algum tempo, pois quando acordou, piscando, estava deitada, com um lençol sob seu corpo, e Jeno tirando seus cabelos do rosto.

"Olha só, ela tá viva!" O moreno brinca sorrindo, e Jamein surge de algum lugar da suíte. "Bem na hora, nosso Jaem preparou um banho pra você, vem!" Lee estende a mão pra você, e mesmo aceitando, no momento em que pisa no chão, sua perna vacila, te fazendo sentar na cama. "Tudo bem, acho que vou ter que te carregar"

E ele o faz.

Graças a Jaemin a água estava perfeita, com um cheiro incrível, te relaxando instantaneamente. Você olha para os dois rapazes no seu banheiro, e sorri para eles. "Não me digam que vão ficar estranhos" comenta atraindo sua atenção, mas ninguém comenta nada, então você muda minimamente de assunto.

"Vem cá...vocês acham que alguém ouviu a gente?" Indaga e Jeno sorri pegando o celular e se aproxima de você na banheira. Quando ele te mostra o grupo de mensagens, vê os membros do Dream comentando sobre alguém estar fazendo sexo muito alto, e arregala os olhos.

"É princesa, você definitivamente é uma performer" Lee sorri e te beija, como da última vez que beijou, te fazendo suspirar, e tentar o puxar para si. Aparentemente gosta muito dessa versão dele.

"Não se preocupe, nossos managers já estão cuidando disso" Na comenta olhando vocês dois, ele parecia estar se obrigando a ficar longe, mas não resistiu quando o chamou pelo dedo e uma carinha inocente. No momento em que ele se aproximou, você o beijou, do mesmo modo que beijou Jeno.

"Posso perguntar umas coisinhas de nada?" Fez beicinho e eles concordaram, você sorri "foi bom quando se beijaram?" Não conseguiu segurar a risada quando os viu ruborizar "Aaaah! Vou levar como um sim. Tudo bem, outra pergunta, quando vocês estavam dentro de mim, vocês se sentiram um contra o outro?" Jeno e Jaemin te encararam, os dois sérios, mas você não, se divertindo muito com eles, e querendo aliviar a tenção entre eles. "Vou levar como um sim também! Última pergunta, e atenção ela é a mais importante: fariam de novo? Comigo é claro" E foi no momento em que eles se entreolharam que viu: a resposta era sim pra tudo.

"Mas dessa vez, sem fazer a gente se beijar, por favor" Jeno comenta ficando de pé, e passando a mão pelo rosto. Ele soube no momento em que entrou no seu quarto, que ele estava nas suas mãos e faria qualquer coisa que o pedisse.

"E se eu pedir com jeitinho? Vocês se beijam?" Os dois viram seus olhos brilharem, e por algum motivo você ficar mais animada, mas os dois se recusam a te dar alguma resposta, que não sejam reclamações "Ah por favor! Foi tão quente! Tão insinuante! Me deu até mais tensão!..."

Jeno e Jaemin escutavam suas palavras enquanto tentavam não ligar para isso, por que no fundo, eles mesmo não tinham certeza de mais nada...

[yakuly]

Oie! Tudo bem, gente?

Eu sumi? Eu sumi, peço perdão inclusive! Maas para comemorar que estou de férias, e que consegui terminar de escrever uma coisinha, vou postar hoje 🥳.

Então atenção pessoas que ainda me seguem por aqui, e que estão famintas por um trisal Jeno Jaemin e leitora! Estou só terminando de revisar algumas coisinhas e já posto. E desde ja peço desculpas por ser muito grande (😏), mas vamos relevar o fato dessa bagaça já estar fazendo aniversário nos meus rascunhos, e não tava saindo de jeito nenhum.

[yakuly]

A bandeira bi atrás dele 🫠

just straight to the history books, i am speechless i have no words, this is all im going to think about forever (x)

[yakuly]

Eu e o Djabo...

Jake weverse update - My new friend 👽

@.cheol_suu

[yakuly]

Mingi pre debut 🤝🏻 Han Jisung pre debut

Predebut Mingi was a baddie 😎🤣😂

[yakuly]

He's só Peter Parker coded I CAN'T

Weverse update 🖤

[yakuly]

É ainda estranho pra mim como ele tava explodindo de gostosura...aqui no Brasil...e eu vi...

dominATE in SÃO PAULO D1 (250405) / © all4minho

[yakuly]

Depois de ver ele no show, essa é a única certeza que tenho na vida!

[yakuly]

"Como escrever smut em português sem tiltar?" Google pesquisar

[yakuly]

living dead girl | aemond targaryen

Summary: You didn’t think going to a gig would then have you on your back in a hotel room with the lead guitarist between your thighs and a blinking red light on the nightstand.

Pairing: Metal Guitarist!Aemond x Reader (modern au)

Warnings (not in order): roughly set in the 00s, voyeurism/filming sexual acts (with consent! but again there is explicit filming of sexual acts), smut, spitting, spanking, overstimulation, guitarists finger faster, multiple positions, use of nicknames (baby, bunny etc.), face-fucking, dry humping, a healthy dose of dacryphilia, softish? dom!aemond, sub reader, cum eating/sharing (oops), UNPROTECTED sex (don’t do this irl), edging (m), creampie, aftercare.

Word count: 30k

authors note: ive read this about a million times, if there's a mistake know i had to proof this myself, enjoy babies hehe <3

Dragon’s Gate Bar

            Bodies, bodies, bodies.

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, so overpowering that it drowned out the usual smells of a packed crowd—sweat, stale drinks, and damp jackets. About 150 people were shoved into the sticky floored basement of an alt bar, the only one in the city; bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the walls sweating from the collective heat. All shuffling and moving for the same reason – to see some band.

“I’m not sure why you dragged me out to this,” you shouted to your friend Sara, leaned close to be heard over the noise. Your eyes flicker up to the dinky but oddly charming stage. “It’s not like I’m here for the same reason you are.”

It’s not that you didn’t enjoy alternative music, actually, you loved the rush and relief it gave you after a hard day at work or when you needed an adrenaline boost at the gym. But going to gigs? That was never really your thing. The preference for you was being sat in your bedroom, thinking with headphones on, rather than grimacing every time someone knocked into you or risking a drink getting spilt over you. You didn’t knock the culture; you just didn’t go very far out of your comfort zone often.

Sarah on the other hand? Despite being your friend she was the polar opposite, she was always the more outgoing one. The one that pushed you out of your comfort zone and made sure you always had fun wherever she dragged you to. But for all intents and purposes, and in her own words, she was a groupie.

The thrill she got from following bands she loved, chasing the music, and hooking up with someone along the way was unmatched for her, honestly? You adored her for it. The stories she shared about her escapades; the tours she hauled herself on, the wild nights, the explicit encounters in seedy bathrooms, were nothing short of thrilling. In a way, you lived vicariously through her adventures.

“Girl,” She leaned in as close as you, and yelled back, “When I tell you that you’ll love this band, trust me, not only are they talented but fuck, they are hot.” She cackled, glancing around the bar before she grabbed your arm and pointed to the stage door.

“See him over there?” she said, pointing toward a medium-length, white-haired guy who looked a little worse for wear as he chatted with someone by the side of the stage; just her type. “That’s Aegon. He’s the lead singer.”

Your lips parted to respond to her before she slapped your arm, and pointed just left of the lead singer.

“And over there? That’s Daeron,” she said with a sly giggle and a raised brow. “The drummer, shy and totally your type.” Sarah couldn’t help but tease, cooing at you with a dirty smirk on her red lips.

Following her gaze, you couldn’t help but purse your lips in appreciation. She wasn’t entirely wrong, Daeron did seem like your type. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was taller than the lead singer. His cropped white hair had a fluffy texture with curls on top, and his ears were kitted out with a plethora of piercings. He wore what you could only describe as a "slutty" tank top, arms on full display, paired with ripped black straight leg jeans. Everything about him screamed boy in the band. At the edge of the stage, he was lost in his rhythm, tapping his drumsticks on a practice pad with focused look.

“Are they all related or something,” You asked her, looking at Daeron intensely as the black-haired man who was speaking to Aegon wandered over to him next.

“Yes,” She nodded with a shit-eating grin, her eyes burning with some sort of desire, “There’s a guitarist too, Aemond, but he’s a bit no-nonsense with everything so you never see him until he goes on stage – their sister Helaena joins them as bass when they tour.” She added.

“So, they’re a family of musicians?” You raised your eyebrow apprehensively, giving her a strange look, “That’s a first.”

“Kinda hot,” she said, biting her lip with an amused glint in her eyes before shooting you a heated look. “Two brothers in one go? Now that’s my kind of night.” You could only shake your head at her, matching her amused expression.

“What’s their name again?” you asked, glancing at the stage’s fabric backdrop; a black flag with a red, cracked crown decorating the centre.

“Blood Princes,” she replied with a slight eye roll, grabbing your arm and tugging you toward the front of the crowd. She pushed forward with little regard for the glares thrown her way. “Bit of a silly name, but apparently, they’re descended from royalty or something,” she yelled back over her shoulder.

You let out a puff of air, grimacing at the annoyed looks Sarah earned as she elbowed her way through the crowd. While the lights began to dim as the last stragglers filtered into the bar, and the noise of the crowd swelled. Determined as ever, Sara made it her life’s mission to reach the barrier at the very front.

The stage was lower than what you’d see at a big venue, leaving no doubt that this was all part of her plan. If she could get front and centre, so could her flirty attitude, and she’d make sure one of the brothers noticed. It was clear she had her sights set on turning tonight into another of her wild stories.

You followed her reluctantly, shuffling through the crowd as Sara carried forward with pure energy and eagerness. The closer you got to the front, the more you could start to feel the heat of the crowd, the mix of raw excitement snapping in the air as the yelling increased. The air felt thick with incense and the promise of something about to happen.

By the time you had shoved your way to the barrier, she was practically vibrating with excitement, her smoky eyes scanning the side of the stage for any sign of the brothers. You couldn't help but chuckle under your breath. She was a force of nature when she got this determined (or horny).

The room grew darker, and the chatter quieted, replaced by the rising tone of a guitar. The anticipation in the air felt electric, and if the atmosphere was anything to go by, then these brothers probably knew how to put on a show. You couldn’t deny you were caught up in the feeling that Sara felt, that raw charge of the night and the want to just let go and enjoy yourself.

Despite yourself, you found your heart racing, the bobbing of silver-haired men on the side and the crowd starting to chant, topped off and heightened by Sara's infectious energy.

It was like a fate when the lights cut out completely, plunging the room into darkness. The screams of the crowd collectively pierced the air, waiting for the first notes to break the silence.

“Dragon’s Gate,” A smooth timber of who you assumed was Aegon pulsed out the speaker - a deep, resonating sound that seemed to shook the air around you. The crowd erupted into cheers, and the lights flashed to life in a red hue pointing to the crown, and the sound of high hats tapping filled the air, “I want to fucking HEAR YOU.” He screamed into the mic.

The band appeared on stage in a blur of black and leather, shadows shifting as they settled into their positions. Daeron, the drummer, was the first you spotted, his hands a blur of movement as he tapped the edge of his cymbals with precision. Aegon, took centre stage, his presence magnetic as he grabbed the microphone with a casual confidence.

The sound hit you like a wave and the drums thrummed in your chest as the guitars screamed through the air. Aegon’s voice, gravelly yet melodic, cut through that chaos. The crowd surged as one, a mass of bodies moving with the rhythm, drawn together in the shared euphoria of the moment.

It was at that moment, from your spot by the side of the stage, that your gaze landed on the other brother, the one you hadn’t seen before.

Aemond.

You weren’t sure if it was the crowd or the way his eyes locked onto yours, but you were breathless as you took in the sight of him. Tall, lithe, and utterly commanding, he moved right in front of your line of vision, his presence pulling you in like a magnet.

Like his brothers, Aemond was dressed head to toe in rich black. His t-shirt clung to his body like a second skin, while a heavily decorated leather jacket hung casually over his shoulders; spotted with studs and patches that you didn’t understand. His jeans were tight and ripped, accentuating every sculpted muscle in his skinny legs, and topped off with a heavy looking buckle. His hair, much longer than both of his brothers, was straight and swayed with each nod of his head like rivers of liquid silver spilling over his shoulders.

What stood out the most was the faint red scar that ran across his eye, its presence flickering with each flash of light, yet always there. His eye seemed largely unaffected, milky white and probably not useable conventionally, but the slash only seemed to enhance his features rather than detract from them, adding a raw intensity to his face that made it all the more striking.

And his hands? God, his hands.

They were perfectly large and veined, like they’d been carved by the gods themselves, made to pluck strings. His bony fingers grasped onto the neck of his guitar and moved up and down in a way that told you that he had rough skin.

Something was captivating about him, something that drew your attention even as the chaos of the crowd swirled around you with the sounds of screams and shoves. It was like every movement he made seemed deliberate, as though he knew exactly how to command the room without a word; if the screaming of girls around your side of the stage was anything to go by. His eyes flicked toward you again as they started to pick up with the first song, it was as if the noise of the crowd faded for a split second, and it was just the two of you in that electric space.

Aemond didn’t look away, his gaze steady and piercing, and you felt an inexplicable shiver lick down your spine. It was like he wanted to eat you. You could almost hear the music beneath the pounding bass, its rhythm syncing with the beating of your heart. You were no longer just watching a show, you were completely caught in a moment with this man, completely aware of how he seemed to take up every bit of the space around you.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk, and you couldn’t tell if it was meant for the crowd or you. But it didn’t matter.

In that brief exchange, something shifted. You couldn’t look away, and neither could he. The connection, electric and silent, buzzed between you like an unspoken dare. The music throbbed louder, the crowd's energy surging again, but now, you were focused entirely on him. Aegon's screams blending into the background.

The moment seemed to stretch beyond moral time; each second dragging on as the intensity between your gazes grew. The music swirled around you, but it felt distant now as Sara jumped beside you completely unaware.

It was fading into the background as Aemond’s presence consumed your attention, a warming feeling building in your core just from his very eyes. His eyes never left yours, and with each beat, it was as though he was drawing you in deeper, challenging you to break the gaze between you.

The crowd surged around you, people moshing and shoving with an energy you didn’t possess, but you stood still, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and raw desire for a man you didn’t know. You could see his fingers moving on the guitar, effortlessly sliding across the strings with a grace that made it hard to look away.

But it wasn’t just his playing; it was the way his whole body moved with the music, the way he seemed so at ease on the stage, yet undeniably aware of every person in the room; he was there only for himself.

Every moment passing felt like hours. And then, without breaking eye contact, he crouched to the edge of the stage and leaned in slightly, his expression darkening in a way that made your breath hitch; his fingers moving at a speed you didn’t comprehend as he rattled off some solo. The crowd roared around you at him, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

With a flushed face, you could only look him up and down as Aemond smirked again, this time broader, as if he’d won some silent game between you. You couldn’t tell if he was inviting you in or daring you to look away, but either way, you knew you were already lost in it.

You knew you were fucked.

The rest of the show passed in a blur, all with Aemond’s face etched into your mind; the unspoken tension between you two palpable and electric, intoxicating even. But it was as intense as it was intoxicating, leaving you with a building warmth deep in your core – a sensation you weren’t sure you’d ever felt from a singular person before. It wasn’t just the music or the atmosphere causing it; it was something more primal, a raw need charging between two people who hadn’t even exchanged a word.

Aemond’s gaze never wavered, and neither did yours. The connection was undeniable, like an unspoken promise of more hanging in the air. Every glance, every flick of his fingers on the guitar, seemed to deepen the pull between you. The crowd around you faded, the noise blurring into the background as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

When the final song hit and for a brief, fleeting moment, Aemond’s eyes locked with yours one last time as he handed his guitar off to one of the techs. He held your gaze with an intensity that made the air thick and heavy like something was about to snap. The moment was charged but brief as he roamed over you with his eyes before disappearing off the side of the stage, leaving you standing there, breathless, wanting more.

As the lights came up, Sara turned to you with a grin so smug it could only mean she did, in fact, see the whole thing. Her head whipped around so quickly, much to the chagrin of the man behind her who got slapped with her hair, it was a miracle she didn’t get dizzy. Before you could react, her manicured hand was clutching your arm, yanking you closer.

“Girl, what was that?” she demanded, shaking you slightly for emphasis like she couldn’t contain herself. “And don’t you dare tell me ‘nothing.’ I saw the way you were making ‘fuck me’ eyes at him.” She widened her eyes for emphasis.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, still a little breathless from the intensity of it all. Your eyes briefly glanced back at where he had just stood on stage. “We just… locked eyes, and I couldn’t look away.”

Sara squealed so loudly that a few people nearby shot her odd looks, but she didn’t care. Her face was one on of pure elated happiness,

“Are you gonna fuck him? Please tell me you are,” she asked, bouncing on the spot like a giddy child. “I mean, you picked the hardest one in the band to crack, but girl, you have to,” she said, her eyes wide and full of determination.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Sara,”

“What,” she shot back, shameless. “You know I’m right. That was electric, babe. You can’t let a moment with a man like that go to waste.”

If someone were to stare at you right now, they’d witness your mouth opening and closing like a confused fish – completely unable to tell your best friend otherwise. It was comical, and it was embarrassing because she was right. If the burning in your core didn’t speak to how much you wanted him, the fact that he ensnared your gaze without even mumbling a single word to you was something written out of a shitty book. You knew nothing about him; besides the 3 things Sara told you and the fact that visually he might be the most gorgeous men you’ve ever seen.

It wasn’t like one-night stands were completely off the table - you indulged now and then, just like anyone else. You were an adult woman with needs, after all. But sleeping with a musician? That sounded like a recipe for absolute disaster.

Charming, unpredictable, and fleeting all swirled around your head. Musicians were the people who lived in the moment, burned bright, and moved on just as quickly. A one-night stand with a regular person was one thing, a mutual, fleeting connection that was understood and beneficial, but with a musician? It felt like opening the door to a mess of complications. Your face internally grimacing at the idea of blurred boundaries, ego trips, and the lingering aftermath of knowing you were likely just another fleeting memory for them.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “It’s not like I can just walk up to him and—”

“Oh, yes, you can!” Sara interrupted, her grip on your arm tightening as she gave you a look that could burn through steel. “He was looking at you, not just glancing, babe. That was full-on-undressing-you-with-his-eyes energy.”

“Sara,” you hissed, glancing around at the dispersing crowd, it was unlikely anyone cared. “He’s probably already gone backstage or something.”

Sara could only give you a look that called you an idiot on various levels, her eyes fluttering like you’d said the stupidest thing in the world to her.

Sara snorted and crossed her arms. “They always head to the bar upstairs after the show, mingle with the crowd or whatever – it’s usually invite only or guestlist, but I know the bartender here, he’ll vouch for us.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

She smirked, pointing toward the other side of the room, where the stairs that led up to the bar stood – two men with beards guarding it with a passive look on their face. She could only turn and grin like she’d won the lottery, her confidence practically oozing.

“Relax, babe. I’ve done this a million times. We’ll get in, no problem.” She said smugly, linking arms with you and practically dragging you to the stairs.

The two bouncers looked intimidating but uninterested, scanning the dispersing crowd like they’d rather be anywhere else. Your stomach churned with a mix of nerves and excitement.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked her, though you knew it was a futile question. Once Sara had a plan and sex on the brain, she was unstoppable.

“Good idea? Probably not,” she admitted with a laugh, linking her arm through yours and pulling you toward the stairs. “But a fun one? Abso-fucking-lutely.” She grinned.

You sighed but didn’t resist her as she led the way, her platform heels thudding against the sticky floor. Deep in your gut you knew this was a terrible idea, possibly even the worst idea of hers you could have gotten involved in, but there was a depraved part of your brain that was curious to see if your little staring contest would go anywhere.

When you eventually reached the base of the stairs, you were clearly not the only people itching to get up into the private afterparty, a gaggle of women surrounding the bouncers like hungry zombies.

Sara, being the champ that she was, merely elbowed her way in again, much like the gig crowd, and it was in a blink of an eye before one of the bouncers held up a hand to stop you going further.

“Private area,” he said flatly, giving both of you a once-over.

Sara didn’t miss a beat. She leaning in and flashing that bright smile she pulled when she wanted her way, a gentle purr to her tone as she dropped the name of someone, probably the bartender, like they were old friends. “He said it’s fine.”

On of the bouncers raised an eyebrow, glancing at his companion, who gave a barely perceptible nod; the lack of care on his face. “Alright. Go on up,” he said, stepping aside.

Your eyes widened as Sara tugged you up the stairs. “How do you do that?” you whispered, in awe as she dragged you up the stairs, your eyes glancing behind you to see the hordes of unhappy women at your easy entry.

She shrugged with a grin, jogging up the stairs like her life was dependant on it. “You gotta make them believe what you’re telling them by believing it yourself and somehow it works.”

The upstairs bar was smaller and far more exclusive, with low lighting, posters covering the walls from all the bands that had played there, and a tamer hum of the crowd. The air was tinged with a mix of lingering incense smoke, drinks, and something faintly metallic, it wasn’t off-putting in the slightest though.

It was quieter up here, the crowd dwindled to a select few – mostly friends, fans, and stage crew. The hum of voices was more subdued, like a white noise of just people around you with no discernible conversation being picked up; a stark contrast to the previous frenzied yelling from down the stairs.

The first thing you noticed was the band itself, scattered throughout the room like stars in their own sky. Each member was absorbed in their own little bubble of admirers around them, each with the casual confidence they exuded making them magnetic even in this more relaxed setting.

You could see Sara perk up from beside you as she dragged you to the bar; Aegon, holding court further down the bar, a lazy grin plastered on his face as he entertained a small group of women who all seemed to be fawning for his attention.

“You going to go over to him?” You ask her softly, nudging her with your elbow as you both lean on the bar, gesturing to the bartender for two ciders, “I mean, you look like you’re about to burst from excitement.” There’s was teasing tilt to your voice

“You mean am I going to fight off the 7 girls around him?” She rolled her eyes softly, fishing in her tiny bag for her compact and lipstick, “To which I’ll tell you, maybe, I’ll see how I feel – maybe I’ll go for one of the other brothers,” Her eyes flicked back to you with a smirk shining in them.

At her jest, you turned and looked for the other brothers – only to find Daeron stood near a corner booth, shyly sipping his drink while someone in a leather jacket tried to strike up a conversation; shy for a drummer.

Sara’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her smirk only growing as she dragged her lipstick across her mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “That is,” she added casually, snapping the compact shut with a satisfying click, “unless someone has dibs.”

Her words hung in the air, pointed and playful. You glanced back at her, and the teasing sparkle in her eyes made your cheeks flush.

“Does that someone?” she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow, her tone light but loaded with suggestion.

She knew exactly what she was doing and she was stupidly happy about it, and even worse, she wasn’t wrong. The thought of “dibs” made your mind flash back to Aemond, his intense gaze, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hands moved as if they were an extension of his will.

Could you handle if she decided to sleep with him? You didn’t know him, so you shouldn’t care, and Sara would never do that to you anyway. But, there was a burning in your chest at the thought of someone doing it. An ugly and nauseous feeling that clawed at your oesophagus, tearing into it and leaking something putrid into your soul.

You cleared your throat, the tight feeling suddenly like hand around your airway, fumbling pathetically for a response. “I mean, I just…” You trailed off, trying to come up with something, anything, that didn’t sound like an admission.

Sara just grinned, completely unbothered by your flustered state. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, like a skittish kitten,” she said, drawing out the sounds with a knowing lilt.

She tucked her compact back into her bag and adjusted her top. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you want to make a move, now’s your chance. Guys like that? They don’t stick around long; and they certainly don’t stick around alone for long.”

She was right and you hated it, her words sinking in and hitting a nerve. The cider you had ordered was cold in your hand as you leant on the bar, glancing around for any sign him. A nervous sip being taken at the thought.

Your breath caught when you saw him.

Standing off to the darker side of the bar, well-removed from the centre of attention, Aemond seemed completely at ease yet undeniably commanding in his chosen space. His tall frame leaned casually against the wall like he didn’t really care to be there; his fingers curled around a glass of dark liquid as he chatted quietly to someone, a lady with dark hair. The faint light caught his silver strands and the sharp planes of his face, making him look almost otherworldly in such a normal place.

The woman with him laughed softly, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd but you caught it; it was womanly and warm, but Aemond’s reaction to her was muted – a polite nod, and brief flicker of what you could call smile that didn’t quite reach his eye. His focus seemed elsewhere, like he was merely going through the motions of the conversation.

It wasn’t until he caught your eye, that his demeanour shifted. His posture straightened subtly, his head tilting ever so slightly as his eye locked onto yours; a nod so subtle you weren't sure if you caught it, a silent beckon to ‘come closer’. The woman beside him seemed to notice, however, her own gaze darting toward you with mild curiosity before she offered him a quick goodbye and slipped away into the crowd.

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your heart pounding in your chest, Sara was close to you watching the whole thing with a smug look on her face. The feel of her sharp elbow digging into your side snapped you out of your stare, your head whipping to look at her with wide eyes.

“Go,” she said, her voice firm but there was an air encouragement under it.

You glanced back at her, your heart racing, and then turned toward Aemond, “I don’t want to just leave you on your own.”

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they would drop right out her skull, “Alone? Babe, I’m going home with someone, and you will too – now go.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before your feet carried you forward almost on instinct. The closer you got, the more palpable his presence became, as though he commanded the very air around him. His gaze never strayed from you the whole time you walked over; steady and unrelenting, it was like he had all the time in the world to wait for you.

It was flattering, but it was like he was enraptured by watching a small animal about to get pounced on, his eye strong to the point that you could have sworn that the lighting made it look like a void.

When you finally stopped in front of him, he was leaned back slightly against the wall, like another frame on the gallery that was posters and signatures of past gigs. He was perched there like a gargoyle, and the way you’d heard people talk about him, it wasn’t that bold of an assumption to make that he most likely loved to watch. His tall frame both relaxed and coiled, like a snake waiting to strike. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver of heat through you.

"You found me," he said, his voice low and rich, carrying effortlessly over the low hum of the room. “I was wondering if staring was really all you could do.”

"I was looking for you?" you replied softly, trying to match his indifferent composure.

“Unless you stare at everyone with eyes like that…” His smirk deepened, and he took a slow sip from his glass before answering. "…I’d like to think so."

The air between you felt charged, the buzz of the room fading into a distant hum. Up close, his features were even more striking. The faint scar cutting across his eye seemed to catch the dim light in a way that made it all the more mesmerising, and the intensity of his stare was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. There was an oddity about his face, not in the sense that he wasn’t gorgeous, but that he had the features of someone that you could trace with your fingers, memories every little bump, and never meet someone like that again.

“You decided to come up,” he said, his voice smooth and quiet, like a secret meant just for you, "You’re not like the usual crowd, you stand out a bit more." he said after a beat, his eye sweeping over you in a way that felt like he was picking you apart. Judging your worth.

You couldn’t tell if it was malicious or just curiosity, but you glanced down at your clothing regardless, it wasn’t anything as outlandish as what Sara wore but it still fit the vibe; a black denim shorts and tight silk top, with a thicker leather jacket tossed over it. It was appropriate for the situation, even if the tag was digging into your side and you longed to shed it like a second skin.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You murmured softly, your eyes glancing back up at him with a raised brow.

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment, his eyes openly sweeping over you. "It is."

“Bold,” You tut softly, your eyes sweeping over his face, “Do you usually stare down women in the crowd? Or am I special?”

Aemond's lips twitched into a faint smirk, the kind that felt practiced yet somehow still genuine, like he knew what he could do to people. He didn’t answer immediately, instead letting the tension simmer in the space between you. His free hand coming up to touch your hair, brushing the strands that were hanging down softly, twirling a piece of it around his finger. It sent a shiver down your spine as your eyes flicked to watch his hand, the subtle jingle of his bracelets, before looking back at him – his eye staring at you intensely.

“Special,” he finally said, the single word carrying enough weight to make your chest seize. “If that makes you any more comfortable...” He trailed off waiting for your name.

You gave it as you swallowed hard, the hum of the room growing even more distant, like he was pulling you into his world and the two of you were caught in a bubble apart from everything else.

“Well,” you managed to choke out, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest, “I hope you have more to offer than pretty words and staring, Aemond.” You surprised yourself with the boldness of your own response, the hint of a challenge laced in your tone.

His smirk deepened, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that was maddening, his free hand dropped back to his side, the one that was holding his half empty glass placing it off to the side as he held your stare.

He liked long silences, and you couldn’t tell if that was hot or if it was going to be infuriating. You watched him with rapt attention as he reached out to you, his fingers lightly holding the edge of your jacket as he tugged you a bit closer to him. His form towering of you as you looked up; his hair creating a curtain as he looked down.

“Oh, I assure you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “there’s much more than words where that came from.”

All your mouth could do was part as his used the soft hold on your jacket to switch places with him, his eyes casting around the room before tilting his chin to look down at you; curtains of starlight hair moving as he crowded you back into the wall.

Aemond’s presence was overwhelming, deliberate.

The air between you building and thickening quicker than you could ever imagine, the space between charged with something unspoken but undeniable. The sharp scent of whatever he had been drinking lingered on his breath, mixing with the faint smokiness wafting off his clothing, and it made your head swim. He was delectable.

His fingers, still hooked on the edge of your jacket, tightened just enough to pull you slightly closer, enough to make your breath hitch. Aemond wasn’t just touching fabric, he was anchoring you, claiming the space between you both as his own.

“You seem at a loss for words,” Aemond murmured, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was velvet, softer than you’d imagine by just looking at him. It teasing but edged with something deeper.

You swallowed softly, his eyes watching with rapt attention as your throat bobbed, “Not lost,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, softer than you wanted.

His eye flickered over your face, reading you, dissecting every tiny shift in expression. Then, with agonising slowness, he lifted one hand to trace the line of your jaw with his thumb, barely there in its graze, but enough to make you shiver all the same.

“I like you like this,” he admitted, voice dipping lower, dragging over your senses. “You’re like a doe.”

A sharp breath left you, chest rising and falling as he leaned in just enough that his lips nearly brushed yours, but not quite. The heat of him, the sheer intensity in the way he watched you, was enough to set every nerve in your body alight.

“Come out for a smoke with me?” He hummed softly but his words were edged with other intentions, so soft that if he wasn’t right in front of you then the words would be lost to the bar, “If you want to of course…”

“Okay.” you whispered, trying for steady, though your fingers curled against the wall behind you. “Just a smoke, right?.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, but this time, his restraint frayed. His hand slid lower, tracing down your side before gripping your waist, firm, possessive.

“Maybe.”

And with that, he closed the last sliver of space between you, pulling your hand from behind you.

The night air did little to cool the heat still pulsing under your skin. Every nerve in your body was taut as you stood beside Aemond on the curb, waiting. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of a car, but all you could hear was the faint rush of your own breath, watching it even as it turned to white smoke in the cold air, coupled with the unsteady thrum of your pulse. You had watched him take his phone out as he tugged you outside, pulling up an app to call a car.

Sara’s face has been absolutely ecstatic as she caught your eye leaving, his body perched on the lap of someone that wasn’t her main conquest, a subtle tongue in cheek push telling you that she was hoping you’d get that and then some tonight.

Aemond exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the ember of his cigarette glowing bright before fading into the darkness. He held it loosely between his fingers, rolling it casually like he had no thoughts in his head, his other hand shoved in his coat pocket.

Despite the casual stance, there was nothing relaxed about him. His presence was deep, brimming with unspoken intent, and the weight of his gaze was heavy when it flickered to you. Sending a fresh wave of anticipation curling through your stomach.

He smirked, lips twitching around the cigarette. “You’re quiet.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly under his stare. “So are you.”

His eye glowed in the low light. “I enjoy a good silence.”

You let out a soft scoff, but there was no real bite to it. Your pulse had yet to settle from earlier, from the way he had pressed you against the wall, the way he had touched you like he knew exactly what you needed before you even did. And now, just standing next to him, you felt like you were on the edge of something again, teetering between restraint and surrender.

Aemond took another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot with slow, deliberate movements. When he turned toward you fully, it felt like the air between you shifted, tightening like a drawn wire.

His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his, his hands a sharp contrast to the freezing air. The touch was light, almost teasing, but it set you alight all the same. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, lingering for a breath before he spoke.

“You’ll come home with me,” Aemond murmured, not a question, but a quiet, guaranteed statement.

You should have said something, taken a page out of Sara’s book and teased him, made him work for it. But your breath caught when he took a step closer, closing what little space remained between you.

The cab pulled up, but neither of you moved. Not yet.

Aemond’s fingers slid down, grazing your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. He tilted his head, his lips hovering just above yours, so achingly close you could feel the heat of him. The white of your breaths mixing in the air like smoke.

“Tell me you want this.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his leather jacket, holding on like it was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Your heart pounded, a slow, aching thud.

“I want this,” you breathed.

Aemond’s smirk deepened, his thumb teasingly pressing harder on your throat.

“Good girl.”

And with that, he placed a hand firm at your back, guiding you into the cab, into the inevitable.

The elevator ride up to his place was a steamy blur of tension, the kind that buzzed under your skin and refused to let up like you were in a shower room and all you could see were shapes of body and heat.

Aemond was standing beside you the whole time, his towering presence taking up more space than it should, his hands hanging casually down by his sides as if he weren’t fully aware of the effect he had on you - or perhaps he was too aware.

Every bump of the elevator, every jostle of it going up, has his hand brushing against yours; the warmth of it tickling your skin like whispered promises. All while he stood there, every so often looking at you with a look in his eye, a hunger so deep you began to wonder if you were about to be his prey rather than his hook-up.

He was strange, you had assumed he’d jump on you the second he got you alone, pushing up against the rickety metal of the elevator and devour you whole. His tongue feasting on you each patch of flesh at a time.

The silence was muggy, a heat bubbling under the surface that was only broken by the gentle hum of the elevator. There was a need in you that could barely stop you from stealing glances at him. Eyes appreciating him in the stark light of the elevator, seeing him in this light, was completely different from the bar.

There was a delicious sense of want every time you smoothed your eyes over the faint curve of his lips, a pout that seemed permanently etched on his face in a way that made you want to see his lips move in any way that you could, or the way his skin had blemishes that didn’t take away from his beauty. Dozens of little moles and freckles dotted all over his face and neck, all of them you itched to trace your lips over.

It was suffocating, and you imaged if lust between you two had a smoke there would be a lavender haze filling the space; it was mind-numbing but also filled you with such a need that you were curious if there was a possibility of having him take you right against the metal walls.

If he felt the same, he hid it well, almost too well that a small insecure part of you wondered if he was merely playing a trick on you. That the pout you begged to kiss would sneer and tell you to leave, that you were stupid to follow him home.

You knew nothing of Aemond, just a few mumbled words between friends that he was elusive and rather hard to crack and that he was devastatingly gorgeous. But gorgeous men just shouldn’t be trusted, couldn’t be trusted.

When the doors eventually slid open to his home, the view hit you first. The entire far wall of his apartment was glass, lavished with a thick black blind at the top. It revealed the glittering Kings Landing skyline that stretched out infinitely beneath the night sky.

It was a renovated loft apartment, and it was truly a reflection of his style. Edgy yet inviting. Exposed brick and steel beams gave the space an industrial edge, softened by warm ambient lighting and plush furnishings. Worn walnut wood that was glaringly vintage, and sleek leather pieces tied the design together, everything looked lived in but not messy.

Deep forest green and royal blue textiles added a sense of depth and luxury that you didn’t think he’d care for with his taste in music. There was amusement bubbling in you at the carefully curated collection of music memorabilia adorned the shelves, nestled between well-loved books, with framed art, vinyl covers, and concert posters punctuating the walls in sleek black frames.

From your place at the door, you could see that he had a few guitars leaning on a rack by the window, a large turntable next to it that blended well with everything. Dozens of records lining the bottom, all in what seemed to be an organised fashion, it all somehow felt like an extension of him – calculated, precise, personal without giving too much away and just a touch intimidating.

It was enough to make you even forget for a second that he was with you by the door, “You like it?” he asked, his voice low like he didn’t want to disrupt your thoughts, but there was a glimmer of something in his tone.

“It’s... breathtaking,” you admitted, eyes flicking to him briefly, the words slipping out before you could even second guess them.

He was watching you back, his hand outstretched to dump his keys in a random bowl, his jacket draped casually over the back of his breakfast bar stool. Leaving him in just a fitted black shirt that did nothing to hide the sharp lines of his frame.

“It has its moments,” he said with a very hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, stepping closer as he came up to your side; his footsteps quiet yet deliberate and his hand hovering over the base of your spine. “Though I’d argue the view inside is even better tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint warmth flooding your face. “Bold, are we?”

“I’ve been accused of worse.” He hummed amused, the faint warmth of his presence brushing against your back, grounding you that he was real, “Take a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”

Your chest seized at his words, turning to face him fully. He still smelt delectable; smoky like incense and cigarettes and earthy like the dew on an oak tree, but there was an underlying sweetness to it, a drinkable sweetness, his proximity making your pulse quicken.

God, you wanted to lick his neck and taste him.

The tension between the two of you felt sharper now, like a taut string of one of his guitars waiting to snap. “Talk?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eye as his lips quivered with something at the corners.

"Yes, talk," he said with a faint drawl, his chin jugging in the direction of his couch, his tone teasing but with a seriousness that didn’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

The loss of warmth as he stepped away from you felt wrong, his hand brushing against your back as he moved toward the leather sectional couch in the centre of the room. A worn and used, soft-looking blanket thrown over the back.

Your heart was still racing as you followed, an invisible string tugging you along with him. There wasn’t anything in you that was scared of him, but your eyes flickered around the space anyway. It all felt like a snapshot of a world he rarely let people into, and for a moment, you wondered how many others had stood where you were now.

Did he let people wear down his floorboards often or did he keep that door firmly locked?

As Aemond settled into the couch, you saw the same effortless confidence he carried everywhere else, one arm draped across the back, the other resting on his knee; his rings still shining in the low light, the sapphire eyes of the dragon head staring off to nothing on his middle finger.

It was faint but there was something under the surface of him, a nervousness that he was trying to hide, his fingers tapping against his knee before his pointer finger rubbed against the side of his thumb, something in his body calling to pick at the skin out of habit. He was fighting it though, a coolness of his face as he gestured to the seat beside him, his expression softening just enough to make the situation feel less intense than he was presenting it as.

You hesitated only a second before sitting, the leather cool beneath you.

"So," you said, tucking your legs under yourself and turning slightly to face him much to his amusement, "what exactly did you want to talk about?"

He leaned in slightly as he regarded you and got comfortable with you. Up close, the sharpness of his features was even more striking, the hard lines of his jaw that had your fingers twitching in the want to run across each hard line, memorising it for your memory bank.

The glint of something unreadable in his eye, and the faint scar that struct through the other one only seemed to enhance his magnetism. The scared eye was milky, not as vibrant as the other one, but it was still beautiful, the hint of blue that was still there, like cornflower petals in a milky bath.

“You know why you’re here, right?” he said softly, a faint fry to his voice with how quiet he was speaking to you; quiet but firm seemed to be the best way to sum him up.

You blinked at that, your stomach doing a flip at the soft intensity of his tone. “That sounds a little ominous,” you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the rapid thrum of your heartbeat, your fingers nervously picking at the fabric of your tights.

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he regarded you, a soft tut from his pouted lips.

 ���Just answer the question,” he huffed softly, leaning back again into the corner of the couch casually, and observing you with that same measured intensity. “Do you know why you’re here”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment, his demeanour casual but there was something else to it. “I’m under the assumption we’re going to sleep together, that’s all.”

Aemond’s smirk broadened at that but there was something behind it now, humour, sure, but also something sharper, something more intent. His fingers toying with the rings on his right hand, the subtle gleam of metal catching the dim light.

“Clever girl,” He purred softly, the clench in your stomach almost instant at his tone, “I want to lay some ground rules first.” His tone low and steady, carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken even more.

You arched a brow, refusing to be daunted by the intensity of his gaze, though your heart raced all the same. "Ground rules?” you countered; your voice softer now.

His eye flicked over your face, studying you with the same scrutiny that made you feel like he could see far deeper into you than you were comfortable with.

"I think you’ve gathered, I’m a rather… unconventional person," he admitted after a moment, his voice taking on a huskier edge, "I don’t exactly make a habit of bringing women home, for good reason."

You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded him. "Care to elaborate?"

Aemond’s smirk softened into something subtler, a faint curve of his lips that hinted at a side of him you weren’t sure he showed to many.

"I don’t mess around," he said simply his hand reaching out again to move some of your hair out the way, though there was a flicker of something darker in his tone. "If all I wanted was a warm body, I wouldn’t have brought you here, I would have fucked you in that bar and been done with you."

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and charged; the lust had developed into something more, something darker, but not something unsettling, dare you say it even furthered your interest. The air between you felt impossibly still, like when the forest went silent for a predator in its wake, waiting for what would come next.

"So, what is it, then?" you asked, your voice quieter now, your tone giving way to genuine curiosity. "Why am I here?"

His gaze was cast to your lips as his lips perked up into what you could call a smile, a small huff of air blowing out his nose as he scanned his way back to your eyes, “What if I told you I was into a little more... Intense things than a throwaway one night stand?”

The air between you seemed to thrum, your pulse quickening at his words. There was something deliberate in the way he said it, slow and measured, as though he was testing your reaction, gauging how far he could push before you might pull back.

You tilted your head, your curiosity was now undeniable. “Intense?” you echoed; your voice soft but steady. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that, Aemond.”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, unflinching. “You’re such a precious little thing,” he murmured, his voice low, “and I can’t help but have a soft spot for tearing apart precious little things”

You blinked at that, both intrigued and slightly wary. “Meaning?”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, a glint of something heated flashing in his eye. “Meaning,” he cooed softly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of a threat, though it was tempered by the unmistakable pull of desire in his tone. “I won’t play nice with you sweetheart; I want to make you cry… If you’ll let me of course”

There was a beat of silence that passed over the two of you at that, your heart thudding in your chest like a hammer on an anvil, the thrill of his words coursing through you as you tried to maintain your composure.

 “I think I can handle that,” you replied with a gentle breath.

He leaned forward again, closing the space between you, his hand brushing against your knee with deliberate slowness. “Is that so?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something darker, something that made your skin tingle.

You swallowed hard, your gaze locked on his, the intensity in his words drawing you in even as they sent a shiver down your spine. “I guess you’ll have to show me,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart.

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, his eye searching yours as though he were trying to unravel you, piece by piece. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Be sure you mean that, sweetheart, I’m not just going to hold you gently and hum into you like some soft puppy.”

Your breath hitched at the feeling of his lips so close, the weight of his words settling over you like a tangible thing. There was no mistaking the warning in his tone, nor the promise. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze sharp, unyielding, and entirely intoxicating. The warmth of his hand lingered on your knee, his touch deliberate but not overbearing, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

The room felt impossibly still, the quiet stretching between you both like a strong ready to snap. You tried to steady your breathing, though it felt like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly under the weight of his intensity.

“You seem sure that I’ll regret it,” you murmured, your voice low but steady.

Aemond’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, but it wasn’t soft - it was sharp, calculated, and laced with amusement.

“I’m not trying to rattle you,” he said, his voice a soft drawl that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m giving you the chance to leave if you wish.”

The meaning behind his words wasn’t lost on you, and yet you felt rooted in place, unable to walk away even if you wanted to. There was something about him, his presence, his mystery, the dark promise in his tone, that made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“And if I stay?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the question carrying more weight than you intended, your noses brushing as you turned your head to look at him. The gaze was intense and heavy, the breaths being passed between you, sharing some kind of charged air.

Aemond leaned in again, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and deliberate. “If you stay,” he whispered, “You need to tell me your safe word, baby.”

The words sent a thrill down your spine, your body caught between the undeniable pull of his presence and the weight of what he was suggesting. The way he said it - low, deliberate, almost tender, only added to the magnetic tension that wrapped itself around the two of you, binding you in place.

Your lips parted slightly, your breath catching as you tried to form a coherent response. “Safe word?” you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper, laced with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness.

He leaned back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression calm yet charged, like a predator toying with its prey. “I told you,” He said, his tone measured but firm, “I’m not like the men you’ve probably been with before. I need to know you’re prepared before we go any further.”

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place. “And what happens if I don’t give you one?” you asked, a faint challenge in your tone, though your heart pounded in your chest.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a smirk, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee.

“Then you walk away,” he said simply, though his voice carried an edge that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing.

“Because this…” he gestured between the two of you, the space that felt like it was crackling with electricity “…isn’t something I take lightly. And neither should you.”

You hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to process the weight of his words. There was no denying the allure of him, the intoxicating pull that made you want to step into his world no matter how dangerous it might be. But there was also something comforting in his seriousness, in the way he framed this not as a game, but as something far more deliberate, far more intimate.

After a moment, you tilted your head, “Mercy,” you said softly, the word slipping from your lips with surprising ease. “That’s my safe word.”

Aemond’s smirk softened into something almost reverent, his hand sliding up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver through you. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The praise, quiet and deliberate, settled over you like a blanket, making your pulse race in a way that was equal parts exhilarating and grounding. You barely had time to process it before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and far more intimate than you expected. It wasn’t rushed or demanding, it was a promise, one that made your stomach flip with anticipation.

It was a draw of lips together that felt matched, a soft click as they met again and again – a soft breath leaving you as you tried to push forward. He tasted like whatever he drank back at the bar, and faintly like the gum he spat out after his cigarette while the two of you got out of the cab.

The taste bleeding into your mouth as his tongue licked at your lip with a hum. Your hand was grasping at the one he had held at your neck and jaw, fingers brushing over his bracelets, his skin surprisingly warm for someone who looked like the outside would turn them to dust.

Behind it all was a need, a burning disgusting need, your lips parting for his tongue as he licked into your mouth; tickling at your soft palette and sucking softly at your tongue as you played back. He kept drawing you closer, breathing in every single breath he could, his teeth nipping at your lip every time your tongues hid.

When he pulled back, he let out a soft breath, his lips glossy, and his voice a low murmur. “There she is...”

The words hung in the air, weighty and inescapable, as if they sealed an unspoken pact between you. The faint brush of his breath against your lips sends another ripple of anticipation through you. The room seemed to shrink, the rest of the world fading into insignificance as Aemond's gaze held yours, his intensity making it impossible to look away.

It was like a magnet was pulling you back, your chin tilting to bring your mouths closer again but your lips didn’t meet, they only brushed and danced, breaths mixing as you held your gaze.

You breathed out softly, “What am I getting into?”

He only tutted softly, like you would a small child, his hand reaching to brush at your chin endearingly. Aemond studied you for a beat longer, his hand slipping from your cheek to trail down your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of every inch of yourself.

“Stand up,” he said softly, his tone commanding but not harsh, as though testing your willingness to follow his lead.

You rose without hesitation, his gaze never leaving you as you stood in front of him, so close that the heat of his body warmed yours, his hand up coming to rest lightly on your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the area over your clothing.

“Take off your jacket,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

The simplicity of the command shouldn’t have felt as electrifying as it did, but with him, every word carried a weight that made your pulse quicken. You shrugged off your leather jacket, letting it slide from your shoulders and drop to the floor, your eyes never leaving his.

Aemond’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his eye flicking over you with an almost predatory focus. His hand led the way as he gestured toward the sleek couch. “Sit,” he said, his voice still calm, but with an edge that sent a thrill through you.

You did as he asked, the cool leather of the couch beneath you a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. He remained sitting for a moment, watching you with that same unreadable look.

“This isn’t just about me,” he said, his voice breaking the charged silence. He turned back to you, his expression softer now, though no less intense. “If we’re going to do this, it has to be on my terms, but that doesn’t mean your voice doesn’t matter. Understand?”

You nodded, the seriousness of his tone grounding you, even as your anticipation built. “I understand.”

Aemond’s smirk returned as he reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your lower lip.

His smirk deepened, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he leaned in, his nose dragged softly against your cheek before his lips brushed against your ear. “Don’t worry, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low promise. “I’ll take good care of you.”

The air between you thickened as his words settled, wrapping around you like a velvet tether. Aemond’s hand lingered at the nape of your neck, his touch light but deliberate, his thumb idly brushing the sensitive skin there. He was in no rush, savouring the moment, drawing it out until you felt a need clawing at the back of your throat.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he said, his tone shifting slightly, the teasing edge replaced by something heavier, more serious, his body straightening so he was sitting tall in front of you, your neck craning to look up. He held out his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it.

You hesitated for the briefest moment, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But the intensity in his gaze drew you in, and you found yourself placing your hand in his without a second thought. He drew you up with him and close to his body, the heat between you palpable as his head very slightly craned to whisper to you.

“There’s a door down that hall,” His head jutted to the corridor on the farther side of the apartment, turning off to what you could see was a series of doors, “First one just on the right, go inside and wait for me, hm?”

Your breath caught at the subtle command in his voice, the mixture of calm authority and deliberate softness sending a wave of anticipation through you. His hand remained steady around yours, grounding you as his gaze stayed fixed on yours, unwavering and unrelenting.

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you murmured, “Okay.”

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eye but carried enough weight to leave you momentarily breathless. He released your hand, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before falling to his side. He straightened, his expression calm but laced with a promise you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Good,” he said simply, his voice low. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”

You turned, your legs carrying you toward the hallway he’d gestured to. Each step felt deliberate, the sound of your feet muffled against the sleek flooring. Your mind raced as you reached the first door on the right, your hand hesitating briefly on the handle. There was a flicker of nervous excitement bubbling in your chest, your heart hammering in anticipation. You pushed the door open.

The room was already dimly lit, the soft glow of wall sconces casting a golden hue over the space. The décor here mirrored the rest of the apartment: chaotically put together and understated, with a dark mood. The far wall was lined with more shelving that housed an assortment of neatly organised items; picture frames, polaroids, the odd camera, and books.

The room exuded the same calculated precision that seemed to define Aemond. It was surprisingly clean for a man’s room, but you expected nothing less from him.

You stepped inside, your fingers brushing the edge of the doorframe as you took it in. There was an intimacy to the space, a sense that this room was set apart from the rest of his world, reserved for something singular and private. Your feet padded against the wooden floor towards the plush-looking bed, the black sheets inviting as you sat carefully on the edge. Your breathing was steady but shallow, as you tried not to disturb the neatness of his room, sitting quietly as you turned to face the door, waiting.

It wasn’t long before you heard the soft sound of his footsteps approaching, unhurried but deliberate. The door opened again, and there he was, framed in the golden light. He wasted little time though, and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, his eye fixed on you as he stood by the door.

Aemond’s presence filled the room instantly, the air shifting with the weight of his heated gaze. He didn’t say a word at first, his eye tracing your form as you sat on the edge of the bed; staring at you like were about to disappear at any moment, your hands resting on your lap, fingers fidgeting slightly. The faintest of smirks tugged at his lips as he pushed off the door, the sound of his feet soft against the floor in time with the thuds in your chest.

“Well, aren’t you just a pretty thing,” He hummed softly his voice low as he came to stand in front of you, smooth, and impossibly calm, “You’re nervous.”

Your head tilted up to look at him, your face level with his belt buckle as he looked down at you, his hand reaching out to gently caress your head.

His voice was a mere coo as he looked down his nose at you, “Don’t be. You don’t need to be.”

He was taking in your features in the low light of his room, his hand moving from your head to the side of your face, his thumb caressing the skin as he just merely observed you. His touch was warm and slightly rough from what you could imagine was years of guitar playing, the slight scratch on your cheek grounding you at the moment.

“Lay back for me, pretty girl,” He hummed comfortably, one of his knees coming up to rest by your hip as he pressed forward.

It was like your body was on autopilot, sinking back into the bed as your chin tilted up to look up at him; Aemond followed your movement with a slow, deliberate pace, his fingers trailing lightly over your collarbone as you leaned back onto your elbows, his hand skimming your neck like he wanted to grab and softly press back. Similar to the way you’d guide an animal.

The intimacy of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t quite tell if it was the weight of his presence or your anticipation that made your breath hitch.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice smooth, laced with something that sent heat rushing through you. He climbed onto the bed with ease, his movements controlled and precise.

The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you felt his hand settle on your hip before sliding down your thigh to grab the plush skin, grounding you further into the soft fabric beneath. His gaze roamed over you, his lips curving into a smirk as he silently appraised you for listening to him. It wasn’t just his words or his touch, it was the way he looked at you like you were his and his alone in that moment.

"You’re being so good for me, baby," he began, his thumb brushing the fabric that covered your thigh, "Can I ask something of you?"

Your breath hitched again, the words catching in your throat before you could respond. His hand slid up your side, barely ghosting over your ribs and dragging the fabric of your shirt up with it, and you felt your heart pounding in your ears.

"Say something," he coaxed, his voice a quiet command as his head dipped lower, his lips barely brushing against your ear. "Or I'll have to guess…"

The closeness of him was intoxicating, and as his fingers played at the hem of your shirt, the pad of his thumb just brushed the skin underneath with a burning intensity that didn’t match the soft action. When you finally found your voice, it was quiet, almost timid, but it was enough to satisfy him.

"Okay," you whispered, your gaze flickering to his face. The corners of his mouth twitched, amusement dancing in his single, stormy eye.

"I want to remember you, baby, can I ask you do to something for me?" His voice was breathy, his thumb pressing slightly harder against your hip like he was trying to keep you as close as possible like you’d ever run away. "Let me film you..."

The air in the room seemed to shift at his words, the weight of his request hanging between you on a delicate thread threatening to snap. You could feel your eyes widen slightly as your brain worked overtime to process what he’d said, your breath catching in your throat. His gaze stayed locked on yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

"Only if you’re okay with it," Aemond added, his voice softer now, almost tender. The hand on your hip loosened its grip, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin. "The way you look right now, baby, I think you’d be so pretty for me on camera..."

Your heart raced, not just from the intensity of the moment but from the vulnerability in his words. It wasn’t just desire in his eye, it was something deeper, something that made your chest tighten and your resolve falter. He wasn’t just asking for control; he was asking for trust.

"I..." Your voice came out shaky, and you swallowed hard before trying again. "I’ve never…"

"That’s okay," he interrupted gently, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, and grounding. "I’ll take care of you, baby, if it’s too much, just say your word, and we stop. It stays between us."

The sincerity in his tone eased the knot in your stomach, and after a moment, you found yourself nodding. "Okay," you said, your voice steadier this time. "I trust you."

This could potentially be a huge mistake, placing this amount of trust and intimacy in someone you’d only met tonight; but there was something about Aemond that just called to you. Made you forget yourself, and want to indulge yourself more in his hardened image.

His smirk softened into something closer to a smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary. "Good girl, he murmured, his lips brushing against yours teasingly. "You’re perfect."

With his assurance, he shifted slightly, reaching over to his nightstand, his hand blinding opening one of the drawers to pull out a small but expensive-looking vintage camcorder. It almost looked like a relic of the '90s, but it seemed fitting, just like everything else about him. He was knelt on his knees between your open legs as he fiddled with the gadget.

Aemond handled the camcorder with surprising care, checking the settings like he’d done this a dozen times before the faint whir of the tape winding filled the air, a nostalgic sound that somehow made the moment feel even more intimate. The blinking redlight told you that it was capturing everything that was going on.

Aemond glanced back at you, his eye gleaming like molten steel beneath the dim light. His long, platinum hair, messy from the gig, fell over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice steady as before but with an edge to it that told you that he was taking your feelings into consideration. "If it’s too much, we stop. No bullshit. No pressure."

"I’m sure," you replied, the words carrying more confidence than you expected. You met his gaze, letting him see the truth in your eyes.

Aemond nodded, his lips curving into that familiar smirk again. "Good girl," he said, his tone low and full of praise as he adjusted his position on the bed leaning over and angling the camera just right to sit on the nightstand. "Just keep looking at me, baby. Don’t worry about anything else. It’s just you and me."

And with that, Aemond leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as demanding as it was gentle like he wanted to claim every piece of you. There was something delicious about the way his lips coaxed yours, the way he commanded each smack of your lips with a gentle flick of his tongue; teasing you. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breath and the overwhelming heat of him as he pulled you closer.

The kiss deepened, Aemond's lips moving against yours with a passion that left no room for hesitation. His hand slid to the nape of your neck sliding into your hair and tilting your head back slightly as he explored every inch of your mouth. It was a slow but consuming kiss, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece. A soft moan escaped you as his tongue tickled at the roof of your mouth, one you couldn’t quite suppress, and you felt him smile against your lips, a faint chuckle rumbling low in his chest.

"Cute," he murmured with a nip at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough for you to catch your breath. His eye roamed your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your lip shone in the low light of his room, the way your lips parted slightly, and the addictively dazed look in your eyes. "Even prettier like this."

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he was leaning in again, his lips trailing a line of soft kisses along your jaw, his breath skimming your skin down to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver through you, and his grip on your thigh tightened as though he felt it rack through you.

"Aemond..." you breathed, a slight whine to your voice as your hips pushed softly up against his, the feeling of his length through his jeans, not enough friction for you to feel remotely content.

Your voice, trembling and needy, seemed to burn something in Aemond. His lips paused at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your breath hitch. A low, pleased noise rumbled from his chest as his fingers dug into your thigh, grounding you beneath him and pulling you further into his body.

"You’re something else," he murmured against your neck, his voice rough like a low guitar riff, the heat of his breath fanning against your skin. "So eager for me, aren’t you?"

His murmured words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and you felt your body instinctively arch into his touch. He didn't stop his lips, however, as they continued their exploration, kissing and nipping down the column of your throat, marking a path that made your pulse race.

When his lips met the hollow of your throat, he paused, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His gaze burning with an intensity that coiled something in your stomach; a mix of desire and something more, something deeper. Your body felt like it was on fire as his fingers traced up the inside of your leg, his middle finger toying with the leg of your shorts. Dipping in teasingly as he smirked amused by your squirming.

“Will you be good for me baby?” He nosed at your jaw softly, tilting your head up like a dog would as he spoke against the bone, this thumb joining the action to stroke the little pudge of fat you had at the top of your thigh as he did; your core clenching in anticipation with his proximity.

If you could see the air between the two of you, you imagined it looked like something struck hot metal; sparks snapping and crackling. He was something addictive that you weren’t sure you’d ever want to give up as every nerve ending in your body attuned to his touch, his voice, the intoxicating weight of his presence.

You could feel Aemond's smirk against your skin as it widened, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling beneath his touch. His thumb continued its maddeningly slow strokes, brushing against your skin just enough to tease without giving you the relief you craved.

"I asked you a question, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dripping with a dark amusement as his lips hovered over your jawline, leaving a snapping kiss that felt like a tease more than a relief. "Will you be good for me? Or do I need to coax the answer out of you?"

The rasp in his tone sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Your hands instinctively clutched at his shirt, fingers gripping the soft fabric like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat before you managed a quiet whimper: "I’ll be good."

"That’s what I like to hear, baby…" he purred, his hand sliding further up your thigh, past your core and to the waistband of your shorts, his touch deliberate but still torturously slow as he gave them a teasing tug.

"Look at you," he continued as he pulled back, his tone low and rough. "So desperate, so perfect... all for me." His thumb pressed lightly into the skin above the waistband, and the pressure made your hips buck involuntarily into his bulge, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He chuckled giving a teasing push of his hips against your core, the feeling enough to make you want to wrap your legs around him and rut like an animal. But it was a deep, throaty sound that vibrated against your skin and gave you a slight pause as he moved his lips back to yours, leaving a few biting kisses on your lips like he was trying to placate you.

"Patience, baby," he murmured, his free hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "I’ll give you what you need, but I want to savour you first."

At that, Aemond pulled back slightly to sit back on his knees between your open legs, as he studied your face. His gaze sharp and alight with a mix of lust and authority. His hands trailed down your body, deliberately slow, fingers grazing over your waist before settling back on your thigh giving a reassuring squeeze. The weight of his touch was grounding, even as his words sent a shiver through you.

"Take this off for me," he commanded softly, tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. His voice was low, carrying the same deep rasp that sent your heart racing, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words registered. He rolled off to the side of you, his body leaning back with his elbow on the mattress as he expected to take place standing at the edge of the bed, clearly intending to watch. His smirk deepened as he reached for the camcorder, angling it slightly to capture the moment.

"I want to see all of you," he continued his voice a purr; soft and low like he was trying not to interrupt the scene. "Slowly, baby. Let me enjoy it."

The air between you crackled with tension and heat as you got up, your legs trembling from lust as you stood between his parted legs. It was nerve-wracking, looking down at him and the blinking red light, his gaze rolling over your form hungrily.

Your hands trembled as they gripped the hem of your shirt, Aemond’s gaze and the camcorder burning into you; unwavering and unrelenting. He was memorising every move you made.

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks flushing under his intense scrutiny, however, the heat in his gaze was reassuring, grounding you in a way that made your nerves fade into the background. Slowly, you lifted the fabric, revealing more of your skin inch by inch. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as the shirt finally cleared your head, your hair fluffing around you as you dropped the fabric off to the side like it was nothing. He let out a low hum of approval at the sight of your bare chest, the shirt you wore to his gig not built for wearing a bra under it.

His room wasn’t the warmest in the world as you felt your nipples pebble with the cooler air, and the look of his eyes feasting on each piece of skin you showed. He was laid out like a Greek god and you were his water nymph he was playing with; one of his legs bent on the bed to rest his foot on the edge, widening his stance. All in an attempt to ease some pressure from his erection.

"Good girl," he murmured, his eye raking over you with unfiltered hunger, his hand surprisingly steady with the camera as he let one hand go to palm himself, a flush blooming over your chest and cheeks from the action. "Now the rest for me, nice and slow."

His words, paired with the way he sat back like he had all the time in the world, sent a blooming heat through you. Your hands slid to the waistband of your shorts, emboldened by his words as you caressed your skin on the way, unbuttoning them with deliberate slowness as you followed his command. Each movement felt like a performance under his intense gaze, the weight of his attention making your heart pound harder.

“Look at you, baby,” He sang softly, appreciating you as the shorts slid down your legs and onto the floor, you stood there, bare save for your underwear and tights, feeling simultaneously exposed and powerful under his gaze. “Putting on a show just for me…”

"Perfect," he said softly, almost to himself, before tilting his head to get a better look at you, his platinum hair falling over his shoulder. "The rest of it too, baby, turn around and show me…”

You swallowed thickly at that, the low rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine as your nipples only pebbled more at his tone. Aemond’s gaze never wavered from your body, his intensity a weight in your chest that kept grounding you in the moment.

You gnawed softly at your lip, hesitating for only a moment before spinning slowly on your toes, letting him drink in every exposed movement. The stillness of the room let you hear his sharp inhale, which was low but unmistakable, a subtle confirmation that he liked every inch of what he saw.

His gaze burned as it followed the curve of your back, your hands moving to the waistband of your tights as he asked. Your body rolled down with them, giving a little wiggle to your hips, as your hands worked on sliding them down inch by inch. The fabric clung to your legs before pooling at your ankles, kicked off to the side and leaving you bare but for the thin piece of cotton that clung to your hips.

As you straightened, your heart hammered in your chest anxious to make sure you were doing good for him, your lip still between your teeth as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

Aemond’s lips parted slightly from behind the camera, his tongue darting out to wet them again like he was restraining himself. "Turn back around, baby…" he murmured, his voice low and rough, the barest hint of a growl behind his words.

You obeyed, slowly turning to face him, your hands instinctively moving to rest at your sides. His gaze roamed over you, lingering at your hips, the lines of your legs, rolling back up over your chest, and finally returning to your face. His smirk deepened, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in satisfaction.

His gaze didn’t waver as he reached out to place the camera off to the side, the red light moving like a star in the sky as he rested it just out of reach but you had no doubt it still had the two of you in view. He didn’t need to say another word in the moment as he held his hand out to beckon you closer, your legs hitting the edge of the bed as his hand rested on your hip, guiding you closer with deliberate slowness.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice a low purr as he leaned back further, his back hitting the sheet this time, spreading his legs just enough to make space for you. "Climb up, baby. I want you right here."

Your heart thundered in your chest as you obeyed, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. His hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm but not restrictive as you settled into his lap.

The feel of his denim-clad legs beneath you was rough, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch as his thumbs began tracing slow circles on your skin. He was hard as a rock as he tugged you forward slightly, resting your core over that hardness as you squirmed. Your hands rested softly on his hips for balance as you gazed down at him. His belt buckle was cool even through the thin material of your panties, every breath feeling like it was nudging you further into the cold metal as you fought a small whine that was building in your throat.

"You look so good like this, baby…" Aemond said, his gaze locking onto yours, the hunger in it making you feel like the only person in the world. "So fucking beautiful."

Heat pooled in your stomach as his words wrapped around you, his praise making you feel bolder despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. Your hands moved to rest on his waist, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his tee. His smirk deepened as he felt each little squirm of your hips, the scent of leather and faint cologne wrapping around you like a second skin.

"Move for me," he coaxed, his voice a quiet demand that left no room for argument. His hands guided your hips gently, encouraging you to rock against him, the friction sparking a delicious heat between your bodies. "Just like that, baby. Let me see how good you feel."

A soft moan escaped your lips as you followed his lead, your movements tentative at first but growing bolder as his hands steadied you. The way he looked at you like you were a melody he wanted to memorise, only spurred you on.

"That’s it," he praised, his tone dropping lower, rougher, as his lips brushed against your ear. "You’re perfect, baby, every fucking inch of you."

His fingers slipped higher, grasping the plush of your hips as he pulled you closer, his hips pressing up slightly to meet your movements, a soft moan spilling out your lips as the rough denim of his jeans scraped against the soft crotch of your panties; kissing your clit so deliciously you could help but push back harder, desperate for some friction. His grin turned almost wicked, his voice dropping to a growl as he added, "Let me see all of you, baby."

Aemond’s words curled around you, igniting a fire in your chest that burned and tore through you with every passing second. His eye flicked down to where your bodies moved in rhythm before meeting your gaze again, the intensity in his expression making you feel both vulnerable and unstoppable.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding your movements with more purpose. The rough fabric of his jeans against your core only added to the sensation, the friction sparking a need that seemed to consume every thought in your head as soft little moans spilt from your lips.

You tilted your head back at the feeling, your hips moving on their own as he leaned back on the bed, looking up at you with a dark look as he watched you take your pleasure. It was going to be enough to make you cum at this rate, the hardened feel of his length pushing against you and the jeans making the crotch of your panties slicker and slicker as you practically humped him like an animal in heat. He has the smuggest look on his face as your eyes fluttered softly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip trying to focus on that burning pleasure between your legs.

"Aemond," you whimpered as your eyes fluttered shut, fingers grasping tighter into the fabric of his shirt, the sound of his name on your lips sending a visible shiver through him.

He let out a low, satisfied hum, his hands moving up to cradle your waist as his hips rolled up to meet yours. "Say it again," he demanded softly, his voice like velvet in your ears, "I want to hear you."

"Aemond," you repeated, louder this time, your voice trembling with pathetic whine, the weight of everything you felt in that moment crushing at your chest.

He could only coo at you softly as if your desperation was the sweetest melody he’d ever heard. His lips were carved into a permanent smirk, the kind that made your stomach flutter and your core tighten.

"Look you at you," He cooed, his hands gliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin beneath your ribs appreciatively. "Humping at me like a little bunny."

Your hips bucked instinctively at that, a quiver in your movement as his words settled into you, the friction sending sparks shooting through your body as a needy moan slipped past your lips.

"Aemond," you whimpered again, the sound more like a plea now, your head tilting back as the pleasure coursed through you in waves.

"Fuck, look at you," he growled, his hands tightening their grip on you as he rolled his hips up harder, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sensation was almost too much, the rough denim of his jeans and the wet fabric of your panties creating a torturous friction that had you trembling begging for more. "Do you like that baby, being called bunny?"

Your breath hitched at his question, your movements faltering for a moment as his words wrapped around you. The pet name, soft and teasing, sent a new wave of heat rushing through you, making your cheeks flush. You nodded, unable to form words, your hips resuming their desperate grind against him as your hands fisted tighter in his shirt.

Aemond chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your chest as he leaned up, his torso meeting yours, his lips brushing against your ear. "I think you do," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "My little bunny, so desperate for me, aren’t you?"

"Yes," you gasped, the confession spilling from your lips without hesitation, your body moving instinctively in search of more of the delicious friction. Your head tilted back again, exposing the length of your neck to him, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His lips found the sensitive skin there, pressing kisses that were both soft and possessive, his teeth grazing lightly before sucking a mark into your skin.

"My sweet little bunny," he praised, his voice muffled against your neck as his hands gripped your waist tighter, guiding your movements. His hips rolled up to meet yours with each grind, and the pressure against your core sent sparks shooting through you, each one more intense than the last.

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you felt the tension building in your stomach, the heat coiling tighter with every pass of your hips over his. "Aemond," you breathed, your voice trembling as you clung to him desperately, your body trembling from the effort of holding on to the edge.

"That’s it, bunny," he coaxed, his tone both commanding and tender as his eye locked onto yours. His smirk softened, replaced by something almost reverent as he watched you come undone above him. "Let go for me, show me how good you can be…"

His words stupidly pushed you over the edge, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the burning tension in your stomach snapped and a wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your body shuddered against his, the feeling of your walls fluttering around nothing and your movements faltering as you buried your face in his neck, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Aemond’s hands never left you, steadying you through each shiver of your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your temple. "There you go," he murmured, his voice soothing as he ran a hand up and down your back. "That’s my good girl."

You felt his grin against your skin as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties, a teasing edge to his tone as he added, "But we’re not done yet, bunny. I want all of you."

As you slumped against him, your body still trembling from the aftermath of your release, Aemond's arms tightened around you, holding you securely in his lap. His breath was warm against your temple, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he pressed a lingering kiss to your hair. The room felt hotter, like someone had turned up the heat as you nuzzled pathetically against him, a gentle needy kiss being pressed to his jaw as you sought out his comfort. Something in his position had you sinking into a different side of yourself, ready and willing to be taken care of by him.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his tone soft but laced with an undercurrent of need that made your heart stutter. His hands slid down to your hips again, a pat on this skin as he held you steady, leaning back slightly and scanning your face. "But now it’s my turn, bunny”

The heat in his voice sent another rush of anticipation through you, even as your body felt boneless and pliant in his hands. Aemond’s hands slid up your sides, his touch firm yet tender as he guided you to kneel on the bed.

"Good girl," he praised, his gaze burned into yours, filled with a mix of affection and hunger as he reached for the button of his jeans. "Come on, bunny. I want you to do the honours."

"Stay just like that," he instructed, his voice low and commanding, the dark edge of it sending a thrill down your spine. He moved off the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he moved to stand at the edge, the camcorder now firmly in his grip. His eye roamed over your form, appreciation burning in his gaze as he adjusted the angle of the lens to frame you perfectly.

As you helped him shimmy out of his jeans the fabric resting at the middle of his thigh, the bulge beneath his boxers became impossible to ignore. He was bigger than you thought, and you’d already humped yourself silly on him, his black boxers did nothing to hide that he was bigger than you’d taken before, thicker too as you spotted a small wet patch on the fabric from where he was clearly leaking. Your gaze flickered up to meet his as you spotted it, and the smirk that curved his lips made your cheeks burn with equal parts excitement and shyness.

"Don’t get shy on me now," Aemond teased; his voice a low purr as he guided your hands to the waistband of his boxers, your hand skimming past his length. "You’ve been so good for me, bunny. Show me how much you want to keep being good."

Swallowing hard your fingers curled into the elastic of the waistband, and with a breath you tugged the fabric down, freeing him from the confines of his boxers. The sight of him, hard and already glistening with evidence of his arousal, made your breath hitch. He was too heavy to stand attention, the sigh of his hanging between his thighs had your core burning even more as you imagined how exactly it was going to feel to take it. Aemond groaned softly as the cool air hit him, trying his best to keep the camera steady as he pointed it down at you.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Now, come here."

Your cheeks flushed, the weight of his gaze, and the camera lens and the red light, made you feel exposed in a way that was both thrilling and intoxicating. You shifted on your knees, leaning forward slightly, your body arching instinctively to give him a better view as you looked up at him.

"You can touch bunny," he growled against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Show me how good you can be for me."

Aemond groaned as you watched your hand hesitantly come up to grasp him. He was heavy in your palm, your fingers barely meeting as you gave him an experimental tug, the skin silky smooth as you looked at him properly; he was unfairly pretty down there, his head flushed the same colour as his lips as you spotted small droplets weeping from the tip.

You could tell that he was letting you take the wheel on this one, his gaze and the camera staring down at you as you softly started moving your wrist over him. He let out a soft groan at that, your eyes blinking up at him for any sort of praise as you did, the tears from his slit sliding down with each stroke aided in the movement – lubricating each tug as his breathing picked up slightly.

"Good girl," he praised, the words a growl as he pushed his hips closer, the camcorder capturing every inch of you while he did. “You can taste, bunny, I know you want to.”

And boy did you want to.

The red light recording you became just another part of your vision as you kept eye contact with the lens, your lips parting slightly to place a soft kiss on his weeping tip – the groan that he let out at the contact was almost enough to have your eyes rolling slightly but you held it together. There wasn’t any other thought in your head at that moment, your mind focused purely on hearing that noise again. Aemond seemed to be enjoying the simplest of touches, his breathing picking up softly at your tongue flicked out to lick softly at his tip.

"Fuck," he breathed out quietly, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head as you pressed a soft kiss to his tip, his fingers sinking into your hair as he tugged your head forward a little more; a small giggle passing your lips as you kept your eyes on him, "You’re going to put me in an early grave, bunny."

With head soft tug of your hair, you could tell that he was coaxing you to take him in your mouth, the feel of his pre-cum making your lips glossy in a way that had his face flushing with want behind the camera. The feeling of erotic, and despite being unsure to begin with, you’d never felt more wanted by someone at that moment, that’s why you had no issue parting your lips for him and slowly sinking him into the wet heat of your mouth. A soft moan passed your lips as his musky taste hit your tongue, and the silky-smooth skin glided him in as far as you could handle; a soft gagging sound slipping out as his fingers tightened in your hair.

“That’s it…” He groaned out softly, his fingers quivering in your hair as you gave a soft suck, your cheeks hollowing out and your tongue lavishing his length as you pulled your head back, “Pretty, pretty girl…” He said as the camera angled more towards your mouth.

You could hear the sound of the camera zooming in as you kept moving slowly up and down his length. A soft gagging sound every time he hit the back of your throat drowned out by the sound of his breathing and airy moans, your hand stroking what couldn’t fit. You imagined it was an erotic sight, made even more by the fact he was filming everything like you were some video vixen.

“So, fucking good bun,” He moaned softly, unashamed at any noises spilling out that pout, his hand tightening in your hair to get you to speed up slightly. “Taking me in your mouth like a good girl…”

Every time you sank down, he held you there a little longer, your nose nearly touching the base as you gagged around him. His teeth grit at the feeling, the wet cavern of your mouth doing wonders for him, made all the better by the drool dribbling out the corners of our mouth. He wasn't forcing you down though, you could still move away if you wanted to, and every time you pulled back you panted softly for air. Your lips kissing softly at his tip while you caught your breath.

When he pulled you back in, you could tell there was an air of something desperate about him as he groaned a bit louder, sinking in and out of your mouth with more intent, more purpose. His hand tugged more at your hair as he began to move you more and more.

“Let me fuck that mouth, bun,” He panted softly, his stomach tensing every so often like he was holding something back, your eyes glazed and looking up at him. “Will you?” He asked breathily like he was whispering to the sick part of your brain directly.

From everything that had happened so far, you knew that you were safe with him and that he wouldn’t hurt you, and the sick part of your brain was ready to give everything up for him and just let him use you how he wanted. At your lack of answer, he pulled you off him, a soft pop as he slid out of your mouth, his free hand moving to wipe the drool off your chin.

“Bunny,” He murmured, tilting your chin farther up – his body leaning away from you for a second to place the camera back on the nightstand, “You with me?”

You could only nod, a small smile on your face, “I am, sorry… I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” He smirked softly, tapping your chin affectionately, “Is my cock not pleasing enough to you, bunny?”

The flush on your face burned harder at that, your teeth nibbling at your lip as you tried to look away – a bit embarrassed to be caught so in your head at the stupidest of times. He was all over you, his taste in your mouth, his touch on your skin – it was addicting, to say the least. He was too beautiful, and that needy voice in your head begged, pleaded and cried to just let him have you any and all ways.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” You mumbled softly, a shy twinge to your voice like you were ashamed to even be admitting that you wanted it, blinking at him like you could communicate with just your eyes.

“What do we say when we want something, bunny?” He smirked, his hand grasping your chin a bit tighter as he bent at the waist to level with you, looking down his nose at you, “Use your big girl words now, I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

The desperation and the humiliation clawed at your throat, the burning between your legs leaving you stupidly uncomfortable, your thighs squeezing together on the bed to try and ease that feeling.

“Please,” Your voice was little, barely there, like the words were just another breath out but he wasn’t having that, his hand tightening again as his eyebrow raised silently. “Aemond, please…” The desperation crawled out your mouth in the form of a whimper, pathetic and needy like yourself as it spilt out.

The tut that left his lips was humiliating, something you’d do at a pet that was misbehaving or you were displeased with, his thumb brushing against your skin tauntingly as he gazed at you, “That wasn’t so hard now was it, bunny?”

The fact all of this was on camera didn’t help either, the red light on the nightstand taunting you from the corner of your eye.

“Sweet little thing,” He patronised you softly, craning your head up as far as it could go as his hand squeezed your mouth open, lips parting with a soft breath, “You need to be good and ask for things, bunny…”

The word sorry died on your tongue as you looked at him, he didn’t want your words right now.

“I’ll use that pretty mouth of yours,” He cooed, the words filled with taunt and want equally as he looked at you amused, “Open your mouth wider for me.”

If he told you to jump off a cliff right now, you believed that you would, your mouth opening wider under his hold with a slight “Ah” noise.

The amusement danced in his gaze at that, “Tongue too, bunny…”

He let out a soft hum as your tongue peaked out of your mouth, appreciative that you could in fact listen to him, his head leaning down closer to you as his gaze shifted from your eye to your open mouth.

“Keep it nice and wide,” He breathed softly, a subtle squeeze to your jaw pinching it just ever so slightly wider as he hovered over the open cavern, “There we go…”

You could already tell what he was going to do before he even spoke, his tongue rolling in his cheek slightly with a dark look, his lips pursing softly. Time stopped in that moment though, as you watched a glob of spit drip from his mouth to yours, the feeling viscous and wet on your tongue as you moaned out from your open mouth. He could only quirk his mouth at that as he stood back to full height, hishands reaching to shed his shirt.

“Keep that there, bunny,” He commanded softly as his free hand grasped his cock again, giving it a little tug for good measure before it hovered near your mouth, “You’ll get what you want.”

“If you need to breathe or you want me to stop, pinch my thigh, bunny,” He directed gruffly, his tip skimming your lips as you let out a noise of understanding, “Relax for me.”

Your hand flew to brace itself on his thigh as he slid back into your mouth, both of his hands moving to sink into the back of your hair as your lips sealed back around him. The moan he let out was euphoric as his head tilted back slightly, his hair shaking softly down his back as his hips sawed back before pushing forward. The gag was stronger this time as each thrust left his tip kissing the back of your throat, the slick suckling noises filling the space as he moved freely in and out of your mouth at his own pace.

The groans and moans he let out with each thrust were beautiful, you’d never been with such a vocal man before, and he was letting you know it was enough every second of it as you sucked harder around him. He had left you were a free hand of your own, the one that was bracing on his thigh grasping his skin tightly as he used your mouth with abandon, your free one was yours to do as you pleased.

The panties you were wearing were thoroughly soaked through, the gusset of them just a sop of fabric you were wearing as the burning increased, your eyes flicking up to his tilting head as you caressed your thigh and upwards.

With your moans picking up, each wet stroke of your fingers combined with the increased thrusting into your mouth, it was no given that Aemond was curious about what you were doing. His head tilted back to look at you with a stupidly amused look, a smirk painting his lips as he continued to patronise you.

“Filthy little thing,” He chuckled through a moan, his eyebrows raised slightly with pleasure as his lips parted watching you touch yourself while he used your mouth, “I’ll allow it for now.”

He seemed to enjoy the moan that vibrated around him, a groan of his own passing his lips as your hand sunk into your panties. It took microseconds to slide your fingers over your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts to ease the pleasure burning between your thighs.

“Good girl…” He breathed, his hips moving a bit quicker into your mouth as you touched yourself, your eyes shut as you focused on the stimulation of your mouth and your fingers, “You like that, bun?” He chuckled faintly.

“I bet you do…” He hummed, his fingers tightening in your hair starting to move your head how he wanted a bit more.

And boy, did you.

While your fingers weren’t pushing you towards another peak, they were turning this experience into something so filthy that you were sure you’d dream of it for years to come. The feeling of drool dripping down your throat, and your eyes watering as you gazed up at him. He was so invested in your mouth, his grunt and hisses tickling your brain as he met your eyes. A filthy smile on his lips as he sped up slightly, his eyebrows pulling with feeling.

“Will you let me cum in your mouth, baby?” He breathed out, the sound so airy that you barely caught it.

With your mouth a little preoccupied, all you could do was moan around him needily, the thought of him filling your mouth had you fluttered around nothing. Your fingers picked up with his hips as he forced himself more and more into your mouth, the gagging noise getting louder as his tip kept kissing your throat.

He gave you some reprieve as he pulled you off him slightly, your chest heaving and mouth swollen while you gave you a second to breathe. Your lips glossy with his precum as you looked up at him with heavy eyes. The moment was over before it could begin as he sunk back into your mouth, his hand moving off your head for a moment to brush a tear away from your watery eyes before getting back to it.

His stomach was clenching right before your eyes as he lost himself in the feeling of your mouth, his grunts getting breathless and needy. You were nothing but a vessel for his pleasure but you loved every second of his, your finger on your clit basically forgotten as you worked on suckling and lavishing your tongue over him.

His noises were getting louder and louder, his own eyes shut with a twist on his face; he was truly beautiful like this, “Fuck, baby…”

You would have giggled if he wasn’t filling your airways, the feel and taste of his precum stronger as he leaked into your mouth.

You could have stared at him for hours, sat with his cock in your mouth for the rest of time if I meant seeing him like this, but fate was cruel in its own ways.

The subtle tightening in your hair told you what was going to happen before it could, his hips snapping a few more times before he hissed loudly.

“Fuck.” He practically snapped, a final moan coming from you as he filled your mouth.

It sent your eyes rolling slightly as he landed in your mouth, some of his cum slipping down your throat and most of it on your tongue as he drew his cock out of your lips. His hand instantly flew to your jaw with a feral look in his eye to keep your mouth open.

He softly squeezed at the bone to keep it propped open as his lips parted, a soft chuckle coming out as he watched you roll his spend on your tongue slightly.

“Look at you…” He smirked softly, his hand forcing your head up more, “So pretty with me in your mouth…”

He placed a knee on the bed to get closer to your level, his body curling over yours as you smiled slightly, sticking your tongue further out for him to see what lay there. You were sure you looked a mess, spit on your chin and tears down your face, your lips throbbing slightly from use. But none of it mattered in that moment if it meant he kept looking at you like he was.

“Messy…” He chuckled with his lips hovering over yours, glancing between your eyes and mouth before his lips curled.

An honest shocked noise slipped out as his lips met yours, eyes slipping shut with a moan as his tongue slipped into your mouth; curling around yours and his spend as you swallowed some of it. It was disgustingly hot the way your lips met, the taste of him passing between the two of you as he laughed against your mouth, something feral bleeding into the tone as you rose up onto your knees with him.

Holding yourself up with his waist, the two of you exchanged spit and kisses with wet noises that would make anyone burst into flames. The kiss was intense with something so hot that you were surprised when he pressed forward, his arm slipping around your waist to tumble you both onto the best. Hands grabbing at skin, his own sliding into the back of your underwear to start shoving it down.

“Off.” He grunted with a bite to your lip, leaving no room for argument.

It was a haste to let go of him, his hands aiding yours to shove the offensive fabric down, caring little where they landed as they got pushed down your thighs and kicked off your foot. His hand was harsh on your thigh as yours sank into his hair, tugging with intent as he grunted into your mouth, biting your lip in retaliation for the tug.

Both of you were panting as you pulled apart, his eye dark as he looked at you flush and laid out in his sheets. His hand squeezing your thigh slightly with a tut, as he looked between you and the middle of the bed, a silent command to move.

You’d laugh at the power he had over you if you didn’t do what he said instantly.

It was like there was something lodged in your throat as you crawled backwards on his sheets, the softness against your skin doing nothing to ease the heat rising in you as he pressed and pressed you back – your body laying out like his own personal buffet. He was quick to secure your knees in his hands as he knelt between your parted legs, whistling lowly, mockingly, as he glanced down at your wet folds. Staring like he currently wasn’t standing at full mast.

“Poor thing…” He drawled with an amused smile twitching at his lips, his palms rough and warm against your thighs as they brushed up, the silver of his rings warmed to his skin, “So needy and for what? You couldn’t even get yourself off…”

The whine that bubbled in your throat with his teasing was pathetic, akin to a wounded animal as he jested at your dismissed orgasm. You ached so badly to close your thighs and relieve the fading burn, uncomfortable with the cool breeze hitting your wetness like a kiss from winter.

“I was playing so nice with you, bun…” He tutted softly, one of his hands letting go of your thigh to brace himself by your shoulder, sinking into the mattress as he hovered over you with a look that you could only describe as hungry. “But you got greedy, didn’t you?”

His eyebrow twitched at you as he repeated himself, your eyes gazing up at him, a soft sheen in your eyes as your frustration built, “Didn’t you, baby?”

He chuckled softly as your face twisted in discomfort, a crackle in your voice as you found the courage to reply, “Aemond…”

Oh, it was a desperate whine.

Oh, how he ate it up.

His chuckle was more of a taunt as he pressed his body closer to yours, skin warm as it touched, his nose drawing over your jawline as he breathed you in. Your own eyes fluttered as the caress of his warm breath, your core clenching as one of his hands dragged up your thigh, fingers edging its innermost parts like he would the frets of his guitar.

“Now, now…” He hums softly, laying a soft kiss on your jaw, chuckling as he drags his lips down your neck, more soft kisses being pressed every so often, “Ask nicely, and I’ll give in to your greed…”

His fingers brushed your inner thigh like a whisper, moving just enough to feel the texture as they ghosted up, palm spanning the skin.

Your breathing was shaky in its own right, your own hands drawing up his sides and to his back, feeling him properly as he played with you, your breath moving the soft hairs by his temple.

“Please,” You swallowed thicky, your nails sinking into his skin, “Aemond, please…”

Part of you wondered if maybe he was summoned from whatever lustful circle of hell demons resided, his touch closer to feeling like you were falling over the edge as he held you over it by a string.

“Good girl…” He hummed warmly, his teeth nipping at your neck in retaliation for the grab, his tongue swiping over the skin to soothe his bite, “You make everything so hard for yourself…”

If you hadn’t already laid your sins out bare for him to pluck at, to video, you’d be utterly ashamed of yourself at the way you keened when his fingers slid over your folds. An amused noise passed his lips on your neck as he drew up the same way someone would turn the pages of a book. Delicately, with the purpose of knowing what else there was on the next page.

His lips were as sinful as his hands as he laid kiss after kiss on your neck, biting with what would be violets blooming on your skin. The ache of the bite caused your head to drop back onto his sheets with soft pants, giving him the space he needed to paint his pictures.

“You’re practically drooling…” He taunted you, as a soft pleasured breath left your lips, his middle finger rough from strings ghosting over your clit – a warm shot of lightning catching in your stomach. “All for me?”

All you could do was nod as he grinned against your skin, his middle finger delicately brushing over your clit in soft strokes; his knee drawing up to the underside of your thigh to push your leg open further, a flower blooming. There was the familiar burn that spread from your clit and radiated up your abdomen with the tease of his middle finger, switching between a soft caress to a rub circle around as he pushed and pushed and pushed.

Your hips were squirming on the bed, trying to push yourself further into his touch so he’d fully give in, but with each movement, he jutted his hand back enough to keep you at the very edge of his touch. He was playing a game with you, even though you had pleaded for his touch, trying to see how many ways he could make you beg before he gave in. Even without words, his actions were enough that a part of you wanted to push him back, sink your teeth into his shoulder to see how he’d react.

He'd most likely like that thought.

“Please…” It was said a subtle turn of your head, your lips ghosted over his temple, breathing him in like he did you. “Please be kind, I…”

“Kind?” He tutted softly, his lips dragging down your collarbone, pressing a kiss to the top of your breast, “I told you I wasn’t going to be kind, baby…”

Your hand sank into the back of his hair, tangling in the soft strands as your chest pushed up towards his lips, your breathing hitching with the tingle of your skin.

Soft moans and breaths were spilling from your lips like you were resigned to haunting his room from now on; a single hand would be marked on your grave as cause of death with his name next to it. His touches a signature to the absolute dissolve of your sanity.

It wasn’t mercy he was taking on you, it was the attitude that he had to take you apart piece by piece as he grinned against your skin. His middle finger pressed forward first, grazing past your clit to sink down, notching at your entrance as he wiggled his finger there teasingly.

“Is this what you wanted?” He grinned, looking up at you from your chest, “Use your words…”

“Yes…” You breathed pathetically, his finger barely sinking in before it drew back out, the feeling of your walls fluttering around empty space driving you mad. “Gods, yes…”

He seemed pleased with your pleas, his teeth affectionally nipping at your nipple as he finally sank his finger in, your lips parting with a soft moan as your walls fluttered around every bump. His hands were so much bigger than yours, built for playing guitar and generally rougher from actual work, and from the feel of his middle finger, you were ready to give in.

The digit moving and sinking with a languid pace, curling teasingly to brush that rough patch inside you.

“So needy…” He cooed teasingly, his lips kissing back up your chest and neck to whisper in your ear. “It’s cute, baby…”

If you were sane, you would have died at the noises coming from between your legs with each sink of his finger – your mind not even on the camera at the moment as his thumb started to graze your clit again, the quiet room filling with that familiar clicking noise of wetness. Your head barely turned to meet his next to you, your eyes locking as you saw just how dark his eye had gotten with playing with you; your noses knocking together as he breathed you in. Lips barely touching as his finger started to curl more.

“You're soaked…” Aemond hummed softly as your eyes fluttered, a hitching breath leaving your mouth as he grazed that spot. “You think you can take another one, baby?” He teased softly, a nipping peck on your lips.

Before you could respond, he tutted, an amused breath pushing out his nose, “I don’t know why I’m asking, you will take another one.”

A part of you wondered what circle of hell crafted him, the way his lips parted mockingly with yours as he sunk another finger in – a taunting look in his eye that only added to the pleasure as he curled his digits experimentally. The feeling of your legs twitching on the bed and your hand flying down to hold his wrist was humiliating, his rings nudging your entrance with each flick of his wrist. Wanton moans spilling out as he got a little faster with each flick.

He wasn’t a lover that talked you through it, he was a lover that just talked to you, stirred you up and broke you down.

“You’re so tense, baby…” He chuckled, nipping at your bottom lip, “I thought you wanted to come?”

It was a needy strangle in your throat as you resigned yourself to the feeling of his fingers starting to get faster and faster. The delicious fluttering of your walls, coupled with the nudging of his rings, had you wishing that you could get him to sink all the way in with the rings too.

You knew being a guitarist was benefitting him at that moment, the way his arm was tensing without cramping as he did ‘come hither’ after ‘come hither’ motion inside you, your walls fluttering and tensing around him.  All the while, his thumb flicked at your clit the same way he probably plucked his guitars, just enough to get you to sing.

If the way your slick noises and breathy mewls filled the room, he knew how to make you sing for him. His eye burned into you, his voice low with his lips brushing the side of your face as he spoke of all the things he goaded you more.

“Doing so good for me, bun…” He chuckled softly, his lip dragging down your neck and nipping whatever skin he could; his praise shooting through you like a star falling out of the sky. “You were always going to be good for me though, weren’t you?”

The nod you gave in response was washed with sweat and desperation as your hips started to push up into the feeling of him. The burning in your lower stomach started to radiate and spread with each cruel and slick flick of his hand. Your fingers kept digging into his skin, no doubt leaving your marks behind. You were seeking something, anything, to ground yourself as the heat of pleasure rolled through you, the feeling starting to spread down your thighs. The noises you made got more and more desperate with each clench of your walls, threatening to pull you under entirely.

“You gonna let go for me, hm?” Aemond was right there with you, gaze dark with desire, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured.

His voice was low, coaxing, but laced with something sharp—control barely held together as he watched you unravel beneath him. His fingers didn’t falter, working you over with devastating precision, pushing you closer, closer—until the tension inside you felt unbearable.

Aemond shifted, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, nipping softly at the lobe. “I can feel you,” he murmured, voice rough with taunt and heady pleasure. “So close, just let go, bunny…”

The words sent a shudder through you, cries starting to fill the room as the pressure in your cunt grew. When his fingers found that perfect spot, curling up in a way that left no room for resistance, your body answered him. It was like something had snapped something inside of you, the heat flooding every nerve as you spilt around his fingers.

The familiar wetness of your release pushing out, and the way your gummy ways clamped down; pleasure tearing through you in waves. You barely registered the sound of your broken moans and sobs of his name, the way you trembled in his sheets, held firm by his touch, by him.

Aemond groaned, his grip tightening as he felt you come apart beneath him. His lips finally found yours again, licking into your mouth and swallowing every gasp, every cry, as if he wanted to devour the feeling right along with you.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against your mouth, his tone slightly softer now, reverent almost as his fingers slowed. The moans coming out of your mouth softened too as you shook in his sheets still, the familiar dampness coating your thighs cooling with the air. But the hunger in his gaze hadn’t dimmed - not in the slightest.

And you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.

The moment’s reprieve he gave you from your last orgasm was more for his benefit than yours, his stance ever smug as he stroked your hip softly; his form lounging next to you like a deity, like he hadn’t just blasted you into another dimension.

It was an intimate embrace, or as close to it as it could get. Your head turning toward him, gaze hazy, reverent, like one might look at a saviour. But there was nothing saintly about him. No, he was not benevolent in any pure sense of the word. He was a giver, yes, but perhaps too much of one. If the trembling in your thighs and the stray tears tracking down your face were anything to go by.

“Don’t give me that look…” Aemond chuckled deeply, his hand reaching to brush your cheek, “I’m not even close to being done with you yet, our night is just starting…”

“You’re going to kill me.” You breathed softly, your own hand coming up to touch his, fingers spanning his wrist as you stroked it delicately.

Your fingers traced along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin as if trying to ground yourself in him. A man who had so thoroughly unravelled you. Your touch was delicate. “And I think you’ll enjoy it.” He retorted.

Aemond huffed his first real laugh to you all night, but it wasn’t at the joke, it was at you. His eye was nefarious as he leaned down close to your face, glancing at you with a look you couldn’t place.

His look alone sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation curling low in your stomach, even as exhaustion clung to your limbs. You should have been spent, should have been begging for rest, but the way he looked at you, like something precious and breakable yet utterly his, had you curled toward him before you could stop yourself. Needy for his heat.

Aemond was too pleased with himself at your closeness, his fingers drifted lower, tracing the hollow of your throat, pausing where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath his touch. His smirk deepened, his thumb pushing softly on your windpipe – it wasn’t to choke you, more to keep you in place and at his command.

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around his wrist, but you didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Aemond leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to your jaw, a low mumble against your skin as he spoke.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your skin, his lips dragging down the line of your throat, teeth grazing but never quite biting, he had left his purple flowers earlier. “Are you tired?” He taunted.

You swallowed hard, your throat moving over the subtle press of his thumb as words slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

“No.”

His chuckle was low, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own filled with something delicious. “Good,” Aemond murmured.

There was a slight pause as he took you in, undoubtedly looking at the flush colouring your face, or the way your pupils expanded to the point of looking like black wells. For a moment, a brief flicker, you could have sworn that there was something on his face that went beyond pure lust – but whatever it was, it didn’t linger. Something in his eye snapped back to his usual form, and his words tumbled out like silk between his lips.

“You’ve already given me so much,” he murmured, almost thoughtful. Then, a wicked grin. “But I think you can give me more.”

The pressure of his thumb dragging down your throat and back to your hip was humbling, the way something so small could have you ready to kneel so quickly. But whatever you could say about it was taken, his hand spanning your hip to pull you towards him on your side, the familiar feel of his cock hardened against your stomach reminding you that it in fact was not over in the slightest.

“Get up.” He demanded softly, his hand giving your side a final squeeze before he shifted himself.

There was an air of confusion as you watched him move to lay his back against the headboard, your eyes flickering to the camera on the bedside as his body stretched out with legs slightly spread. Aemond had a look in his eyes that told you that getting up was no argument, that the shaking in your thighs and the tiredness behind your lids wasn’t to stop you.

There was an air of silence that was building, your eyes watching as his hand brushed down his stomach briefly to grasp himself again, his own pleasure now on the forefront of his mind as he slowly stroked.

“I won’t ask again.” His voice was low but firm, hand moving casually like he wasn’t stroking himself, “Move.”

It was with a small sniffle that you got out, you weren’t really sad nor upset with the situation, just tired as you sat up; legs curling under you briefly before you crawled on the sheets towards him. His eye was positively wicked in the dim light as he looked at you crawling to him, his free hand reaching out to adjust the camera on the bedside to get all of you as you got to his parted thighs. Body kneeling between them patiently.

There was a beat of stillness before his free hand moved to reach out to you, your own hesitating slightly on your thigh before grasping it. He hummed softly as he tugged you forward, looking up slightly as you rose on your knees, letting go of your palm to smooth down your hips and tug you even further forward. It was a sign to straddle him.

His cock was laying heavy on his stomach as he let it go, both hands moving and grasping your hips as your knees raised to rest either side of him; sliding to your backside slightly to squeeze and coax you into sitting down. He shushed you softly as your sensitive core touched him, hands sliding up to your waist to press you as close as possible while your arms slid around his neck; his hair still as soft as ever as it slipped over your skin.

“You’ve been so good for me bun…” He hummed, his thumb brushing your skin maddeningly, “But you know what I want you to do right?”

A soft puff of air passed out your lips as your hips lazily moved against his cock, your core fragile to the touch after 2 climaxes and touching. It basically had its own heartbeat at this point. Gentle whines building in your throat as he chuckled, amused by your behaviour.

“Oh…” He chuckled deeply, guiding you a little, “You’re so close, baby but not quite.”

“I need a little longer.” You whimpered softly, your head dipping down to nuzzle at his cheek, “Please…”

“Do you?” He teased with a turn of his head, meeting your lips briefly, “I think you don’t, baby, be good now…”

Before you could stop it, a huff came tumbling out of your mouth like a spoilt child – the noise so clear that your eyes widened quickly before registering what you’d done. You couldn’t even get the sound of an apology out your mouth before you felt a force quickly smack down on your behind, an undignified noise tearing out your mouth as the sound of smacked skin filled the room.

The heat bloomed on your backside as you looked at him, shocked, one of your hands moving to cover the area as he gave you a heated look.

“I was planning on being at least a little nice to you, baby.” He scoffed softly, slight heat to his words as he knocked your hand away from your behind, “But you just had to go and be a little brat about it, hm?”

A slight whine came out as your eyes softened, “I’m sorry, I—”

“You what?” He taunted, this thumb brushing over your heated skin, his hand quickly raising again to smack back down without even blinking, “Try harder.”

“I’m sorry…” You bubbled softly, your eyes stinging slightly at the thought of disappointing him that you reached out to touch his face, his chin jutting away slightly with a chuckle. “I didn’t mean it, I just… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He repeated with a slightly raised brow, his eye scanning your face with a dark look, “You’re sorry, baby, you didn’t mean it?” He mocked you slightly, adding a whine to his voice to really drive the point.

“Let me make it up to you…” You gulped softly, hands dragging down his chest as you pressed forward with glossy eyes, “Please…?”

The startle you got as he laughed was slight, the sound so deep and rich that you wondered what exactly was funny about what you said. You could only look at him confused as he pulled you further into him, his cock nudging at your folds, head tilting up to look at you with a grin.

“Baby, you don’t have to ask to make it up to me…” He taunted you softly, hand grabbing at your sore cheek for emphasis, “You’re going to.”

Whatever breath you had left in your lungs hitched as you looked at him, his eyes taunting you to see if you’d use your safe word or not. But no part of you wanted to, you wanted to push and push to see just how exactly he could put you in your place. The idea of him breaking you down was as delicious as Eve being called to the apple. With a thick gulp, you nodded, your hand reaching between the two of you with parted lips as you grasped at his cock; the appendage giving a subtle throb as your fist closed around him.

You knew exactly what he wanted you to do, and no part of you was ready to say no to him anymore as you raised up onto your knees; eyes flickering down slightly wondering just how you were going to take him. He was big, bigger than you’d had before that much was clear, lengthy with enough girth that you were sure he’d fill you lusciously. There was a slight hesitation as you lower yourself down, grabbing him slightly through your folds to catch on your clit with bated breath, fingers edging him further down to sit at your entrance.

All the while he looked at you like you were his last meal, his lips parted and eyes dark as he watched you hover over him with a subtle sway of your hips. A stuttered breath passed out your lips as you started to sink down, a soft noise forced out with the delicious ache of taking him. Centimetre by centimetre, you felt your body make space for him in your gummy walls; the fluttering of the intrusion caused a groan to pull out his lips.

“Fuck.” He breathed, his eyes cast down and his hands tightening on your hip as he aided you in sinking down on him, a loud moan in there as your heat enveloped him. “Doing so good, bun, making it up to me hm?”

He chuckled as you whined and moaned, sinking further and further down while he held onto you, “Looking so pretty on camera too, baby…”

Through a heady gaze, you turned your attention to the red light on the table, reminding you that everything was being captured for him – your hands reaching out to touch his face as you smashed your lips to his. Moaning as he finally sunk all the way in, his length twitching softly within your walls as he groaned against your lips.

He didn’t give you a chance to kiss him before he was pulling away, watching as you squirmed slightly on his cock, back lent against the headboard as he looked at you with an equally potent gaze.

“You can move, baby…” He chuckled, hands brushing teasingly over your hips, your own hands moving to his waist like earlier.

A soft groan fell out your lips as you looked at him pleadingly, being on top was never your favourite without help, but you figured he knew that by now.

“Please…” You sniffle softly, shifting your hips lightly as his cock kisses something inside that left you tingling, “Can you help me?”

He only tutted in response, “You’re supposed to be making it up to me, baby.”

“Aemond.” You whimpered slightly, shifting your hips more into a lazy grind for some kind of friction. “Please.”

Aemond only chuckled in response, leaning further back with a smug smirk; he was getting off on watching you not want to do it, your teeth sinking into your lip as you started to grind a little harder. He wasn’t going to help you, and it was maddeningly attractive, leaving you to your own devices to try and get off while he taunted and tutted at you.

You tried to brace yourself as your hands moved to rest on your thighs, a needy look on your face as you started to move your hips over him. He was kissing your insides like he belonged there with each grind, your clit rubbing on his public bone and forcing breathy moans to fill the space. It was a heady combination of desperation and just pure wanted as he watched you, the only sign he was even fazed being the subtle picking up of his breath and his flexing fingers on your hip.

“Look at you…” He drawled out softly, eye casting all over your form as you worked yourself up on his cock, “So pretty and so needy, is this you being sorry baby?”

“Yes…” You mewled as you looked at him, nails digging into your skin as your hips moved, and moved, and moved. “I’m sorry…”

“Do you really want to make it up to me, baby?” He cooed at you like you would a toddler, one of his hands moving and thumb moving slightly into the crease in your thigh, “Make me happy?”

A frantic nod happened instantly as you breathed and moaned softly, “Yes.”

He chuckled darkly, leaning forward off the headboard – the feeling causing him to slide in deeper which you didn’t think was possible as a harsher moan left your mouth. His free hand slid from your hip, all the way up your breast to brush at your nipple softly before settling at the base of your throat. His hold was soft but with strong intent as it lay there in warning, his palm spanning the bottom and his fingers curling around with a twitch.

“Bounce bunny,” He taunted you, his lips meeting your jaw briefly, “Go on, be good.”

The filthy part of your brain complied instantly to his request, your head tilting back with broken moans as you started to move up and down on him, his lips parting in enjoyment as you took from him. This wasn’t a show for the cameras, this was pure unadulterated want as you bounced and moved on him, his cock sliding in and out of you with each smack of skin, filling his room with the thuds you hadn’t heard in a while. The two of you shared moans and groans with each movement, his lips kissing around the hold on your neck and your hands moving to his shoulders for leverage as you moved like you hadn’t in a while.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me bunny…” He moaned faintly against your skin, his hand tightening on your hip slightly as you buried your nose in his hair, preening softly at his praise, “You like the way I feel, bunny?”

You nodded with a mewl of agreement, panting into his hair as you bounced like a bunny in his lap. It was desperation really, but gods it felt amazing to have him kiss every bump and ridge of your inside like someone carved your hole out just for him.

“Feels good…” You moaned, your hands smoothing over his shoulder and to his back to bite your nails into.

You could feel his teeth show as your nails sunk into his skin, a breathy chuckle passing out his lips as you did, hand twitching on your neck, “You feel good, bunny…?”

“You take me so well,” He moved his mouth to your ear, nipping at your lobe, “Perfect little pussy was made for me, hm?”

His words curled like smoke into your ears, your eyes sinking to a half-lidded state as he spoke to the deep recesses of your brain. Your walls clamped around him as he did, forcing you to move a little bit harsher in his lap. The burning in your thighs was building, spreading from your knees all the way up but you couldn’t stop moving on him, grinding with a pathetic little whine with each roll down. You were pretty sure you did look like a needy bunny in his lap, fucking on him desperately to try and get off again like he hadn’t made you spill twice already; ignoring the burning in your legs and stomach that begged you to stop.

“Maybe I should keep you,” He chuckled pulling his head back slightly to look at your dishevelled state, “You’d like that thought wouldn’t you, keep you with me, warming my cock like the desperate little thing you are?”

“Please,” You begged, pressing your torso to his seeking his touch, “Please…”

Something about him forced you to your edges, pulling you over the edge of cliffs and into some dark pool below that you just couldn’t stop. He moans and groans against your neck wishing that he’d give you the tape of this once it was over, just so you’d have something to hold onto. Just so you could listen to him when you needed to get off.

Gods, you’d let him keep you, the rational part of your brain ready to put away any feminism you had to let him keep you needy and desperate in his lap for eternity.

“Needy little thing…” He taunted you, both his hands moving to your hips with a groan, “What a needy fucking thing you are…”

“Aemond…” You cried softly, the burning in your thighs getting worse with each bounce, “Please, I can’t—”

“You want me to take over is that it, baby?” He grinned at you, something heated behind it, “You’re supposed to be making it up to me, remember”

“Aemond…” You drawled out, trying not to slow down as he pushed and pushed you. “Please, please…”

Tears were pricking your eyes, gathering like pearls really to drop as the pain of overexerting yourself bled into the sheer pleasure of fucking him. The first of them slithering down your cheek as you looked at him, face full of want and anguish for him to take over. His healthy eye’s pupil was already are wide as the abyss, but something about watching a tear streak down your face only caused a glint to pass over it. His face stretched into something dark as he caught the tear with his lips, grinning like he’d discovered diamonds.

“Now, look at that…” He licked your cheek as another tear fell, your eyes closing at the feeling, he was feeding off those tears, “Bunny, you look so pretty when you cry…”

He was a bastard, but gods he was everything in that moment.

It wasn’t pity he took on you with his hands starting to help you, it was a need to see more of those delicious tears run down your face. His body leaned back for leverage as he started moving you up and down on him, like his own personal toy, his touch was harsher than yours, however. Each time he pulled you down only forced more noises out of your mouth, the smacking of skin getting louder and louder as he worked you over him.

The tears in your eyes didn’t lessen in the slightest, your wet gaze looking at him as they dripped with other intent. This wasn’t pain anymore, it was a burning gnawing feeling of lust building up again as your insides started to flame with another building climax. Aemond was grunting himself in pleasure, groans and moans spilling out as he looked up at you with need written on his own face. He wasn’t a needy man clearly, but in the moment, he looked at you like your cunt was god.

You were aiding him in any way you could in your bouncing, your legs practically spent as you tried to keep up the hopping but it was clear he was doing most of the work. Your hands held onto his as you moved and moved for him. There was the feeling of your eyes starting to roll as he moved his legs under you, his feet placing on the sheets to push up into you harder. Squeaks forced out as his hips started snapping up.

Aemond’s face was beautiful in the throes of pleasure, his cheeks taking on a soft flush, his gaze lush as he looked up at you with an almost soft look. He wasn’t being soft at the moment, but the pleasure coloured his face in the way you imagined a painting would look. His abs clenched with each thrust up. There was something in his gaze though, something calling that this wasn’t just it, but you couldn’t name it.

The burning in your stomach was spreading further and further, teetering on the edge of another climax as he fucked you from below. You knew this time you’d need a little more help to get there, not being used to having more than two orgasms in a night, so you felt no shame as your hand moved away from his to slide between the two of you. Fingers found your clit with ease as you rubbed, a choked moan croaking out as you tried to build up to another climax.

Aemond however had other plans, a tut snapping out his mouth instantly as his hand flew from your hip over yours, knocking it out the way for his own fingers. He wasn’t as soft as you, his own fingers intent on pushing you over the edge with a scream rather than a moan – it was overwhelming but you didn’t shy away from the intensity.

As he rubbed, your eyes looked over him so into giving pleasure, scanning him appreciatively; hands moving to smooth over his stomach as you just took him in. It was hot that all of this was being caught on camera, your eyes lazily drifting to the lens on the bedside as you stared at it – wondering if this would give him the same feeling it was giving you later on.

He could tell that you were nearly there by the noises, the way your warm walls got tighter and tighter around him, and the fact your face was flushing like a rose. A smirk drew up onto his lips as he shifted you slightly, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had your walls snapping around him. Eyes widening as you look at him, not even close to being there.

“Ah—” You cried softly, not panicked but worried about just how far this was going to go as he looked like he was pushing himself away from the edge, “What about—” You strangled out.

He only shushed you with a lazy grin, his head tilting back slightly as he forced you down a little hard; fingers still stroking at you in time with his thrusts. His groans were melodic as he pulled you further and further to the edge.

The tears were spilling down your cheeks and the pressure built in your core, walls tight around his cock that you were surprised that he could even move anymore with how hard you were gripping him. The friction coupled with his fingers on your clit forced the familiar prick to start to build, the feeling of needing to let go insane.

“I—” You moaned loudly, your face starting to screw up, his hips forcing every little noise out as he grunted with effort.

Aemond was just as lost in it as you were, but you could tell he wasn’t as close to letting go as you, his grunts a bit too strained with effort as he tightened his hold on your hips.

“Come on bun,” He breathed out, the air forced from his chest, “Let go for me, I know you want to…”

Everything felt like a melting pot of pleasure and pain, your soft sobs and moans blending together to create something truly pathetic as your chin angled down with effort. If Aemond had neighbours that could hear, you were sure they’d think you were being murdered in here but you just didn’t care anymore, the feeling in your stomach like a balloon that kept expanding till the rubber exploded.

There was a subtle haziness to your vision that was flooding in, the feeling of sweat on your back, and the hairs around your temple starting to stick with effort. Every single nerve in your body felt like someone was grazing over it with a lighter, a subtle shiver building up your spine as you felt your eyes start to slip shut; walls as tight as they could be.

And then there was only ringing, your own ears not picking up the moan that ripped out your throat and into the room as you finally let go. Your vision went white for a few seconds as you felt the familiar gush from your opening and soak Aemond’s length, the slick noises adding to the slapping of skin. Your flesh pimpled with a shiver, from your legs to your nipples perking up as you cried on his length.

Aemond could only watch with a shit-eating grin as you let go of him, his hips moving you through your pleasure as tears leaked down your cheeks.

“Fuck, look at you…” His voice was hoarse with effort, the sound scratching at your brain as the feelings started to come back, “Pretty fucking thing…”

The noises out your mouth turned whiny as he pushed you into overstimulation, the burning in your core too much – he could sense your pain however as he started to slow down, easing you lighter and lighter over his till he stopped. Your chest heaving with effort as you sniffled and cried, arms out and braced in his chest as you kept yourself from completely slumping over.

Moments were fruitless to remember, but you could feel one of his arms slip around your back as he moved the two of you with little effort. The feeling of his cold sheets felt like ice kissing fire as he settled you down onto them carefully, his length still buried in your despite it all.

“I’ve got you…” He hummed softly, a juxtaposition from the hammering you just took from him, “You’re okay, bunny, I’ve got you…”

His hands pushed some of your hair back softly as he chuckled fondly, your body practically melting into the sheets as he laid you on your back. One arm holding him up above you as the other lightly touched your skin, trying not to force you into some space you didn’t need to be.

“You with me?” He asked warmly, this thumb brushing some of the tears off your cheek.

It felt like a herculean effort to open your eyes, the lids swimming with tears as they blurrily opened with a pathetic sniffle and nod.

“There she is…” He chuckled faintly, looking over your face for any signs of distress.

His hair was a curtain over your face as you looked up at him, his image unphased while you melted like ice on a hot day into his sheets. His cock was still very much buried in you, the feeling of fullness causing a twitch of your hips that wasn’t seeking pleasure.

He hadn’t cum and the thought had your eyebrows pulling together.

Sensing your thoughts, he hums softly, head dipping to peck your lips with some affection before mumbling against them.

“Bunny…” You could feel the smirk twitching at his mouth, begging to come out, “You know I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out a soft cry at that, your little sniffle causing a smile on his face as he kissed over your chin, “You know your word, bunny…”

Your body was spent, every nerve you had left was frayed away like a tired electric cable left to rust, sweat and slickness covered your body and overall, you felt ready to wither away.

But fuck, you could not bring yourself to say the word.

Whether you were a glutton for punishment now, all you could do was blink up at him as he faux-fawned over you like a child again.

“But she won’t use it though, will she?” He grinned with teeth, looking down at you with a look that told you he was more than ready to eat you up again, “Such a pathetically needy little thing.”

Your body was very much just his vessel to move around now as he sat back on his knees; cock slipping out of you with a strangled moan from you. Both of his hands slid down your sides, looking down at you with an amused look before he pats your hip.

“Turn over,” He hummed while leaving no room for argument.

You whined softly as you were rolled onto your stomach, a tender feeling flooding your body as you felt his hands caress your backside. Aemond was intent on leaving nothing of you, his hands tugging your hips up with little effort as you moved onto your knees and elbows. Your body blooming like a flower as your limbs shakily held yourself up.

“I’ll take care of you, baby…” He snickered softly, the bed dipping as he stood on his knees behind you, hands firmly on your hips as he pulled you towards him.

“M’tired…” You sniffled softly, face partly in the sheets to muffle the noise.

You couldn’t see him but you could imagine his head tilting in amusement, “You know what to say if you want me to stop, baby…”

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to say the word, your body trembling slightly as he pulled you flush against him; his tip nudging your puffy folds with a soft hum. He knew you weren’t going to say it, the hunger in you winning out to see what another peak would do to you, your eyes fluttering at the thought. There was a brief pause before he was guiding himself back into you with a low moan, the breath knocking out of you as your walls instantly wrapped around him tight to the intrusion again.

He released a breathy moan as his hands tightened on your hips, his own body most likely wound up like a coil from the way he kept himself from letting go before. Aemond gave you a few seconds to adjust again before he was gripping your hips and forcing you back onto him; soft ‘uh’ noises slipping out as he started to rock you into him.

This was the furthest you’d been pushed before but you loved it as he built up a steady rhythm, his breathing starting to pick up and his hand flexing on your hips. Not being able to see him left you with a sense of want, but having him behind you like this had his cock reaching further into you, and that’s all that mattered right now. His hips slapped off your behind with steady thuds as you moaned and whined on his length.

“Fuck.” He gritted slightly, his hips forcing just a bit harder as you gripped onto him like you were trying to suck him in, “Where have you been all my life?”

The compliment was enough to draw a tired giggle out of your mouth as your elbows dug into the bed with effort, your head picking up slightly to try and look back at him. From what you could see, his head was tossed back slightly, his hair brushing his back as he used you again like a little toy just for him. It was hot, and it was letting you muster enough strength to try and work yourself back onto him.

He looked down as you did, a smug little smirk on his lips as he watched you, his hand no doubt leaving marks on your flesh with how tightly he was holding you.

“Oh, she’s found life, has she?” He goaded you, “I was going lightly on you this time for your benefit, baby, but if you’re feeling so energetic.”

Your lips parted as you watched him, a shocked breath tumbling out as he goaded you. A dirty smirk on his face, as one of his hands let go to tangle in your hair, forcing your face forward.

Your eyes widened slightly as they met the lens, in your fog of pleasure you’d forgotten it was there. “Smile for the camera, baby” He taunted.

Something demonic made him, that’s where your mind went before he just let himself go on you. His hands moved back to your hips to fuck you like he wanted; hips slamming into yours with such a force you felt every single noise you could make leave you, leaving your mouth open to wheeze and mewl. Aemond was the loudest he’d been all night, grunts and moans filling the spaces in between the slapping of hips and the slick dribbling down your legs, his voice carrying as he did all the work for you.

You wanted to look at him so bad, but all you could do was blink at the camera as tears of pleasure built in your eyes again. Fingers grasping at the bedding while he worked on rocking every bit of sense you had left out of you. This descent up the peak felt different from the last, your body shaking with something cold and so deliciously good that you wondered why you’d never found someone willing to use you like this before.

He was something else entirely, something that you honestly never wanted to let go of as he fucked you.  If this was only going to be a one-night stand, then god you hoped he imprinted his length into you forever.

He’d mostly stopped talking to you, clearly working on finding his pleasure and your own again, his hips doing the work of a god. His grunt and moans were just music to your ears as your head dropping down to the bed, your sweaty forehead pressed into his sheets as your back arched further into the feeling, seeking everything you could from him as he chuckled through the haze.

“You’re something else,” He murmured between moans, clearly happy with how you were taking it like a champ.

Thrusting alone wasn’t going to cut it, despite how tight your body was wound, and the noises you were letting out probably spoke volumes to that. His lips shushed you slightly with a grunt.

“I know, baby…” He said between his clenched jaw, his hand slipping over your hip and under.

The demon he was, didn’t just go for your clit, however, his hand pressed softly on your lower stomach as you sang for him instantly. A sob left you as you felt yourself get impossibly tighter for a second, the push causing his cock to hit something deep in you that had your knees shaking. He wasn’t about to keep you on edge, his hand sliding down to find your clit as his wrist kept pressed on your lower stomach.

“Aemond…” You moaned a deranged sound from the back of your throat he grunted in response. “Fuck, Aemond please.”

“Just a bit longer, bunny.” He grunted with effort, your eyes widening in the sheets as something built hotter and hotter in you.

The feeling was like a hot iron being struck over and over with each rock of his hips, his fingers coaxing everything out of you. It was a scary feeling to be pushed so far, and you weren’t sure if you could even find that end again, no matter how determined a lover he was.

Aemond wasn’t going to stop until you both tumbled over the edge this time, his grunt building into something harsh as he fucked into you harder and harder; his movements needy as you felt right now. Your breathing was all over the place, torn between gasps and choked noises as you fought your brain to get to the end, your tongue peeking out your mouth slightly in desperation.

If you never slept with someone else again after this, you were so glad that Aemond was the one to muddle your mind into something twisted. The familiar haze of lust clouded your brain again as your knuckles went white on the sheets.

All you could get out was squeaks at this point, your head pressing further and further into the bed as you arched more, thighs slapping with his as he took you to the last lap.

“Bunny.” He grunted, something feral in his tone as he spoke to you, “Are you nearly there, baby?”

The only you could give him was a sob of what sounded like a ‘yes’, there was truly nothing left of you.

The hot iron before was melting in the heat, dripping its molten ooze into your body and fogging your brain. It was impossible to tell who came first, but as you felt his hips drive into one last harsh time with a moan so loud that you’re pretty sure it would be ingrained into your mind forever. You completely let go. Your mind blacked out in a haze of feral lust as the feeling of his spend filled you completely.

You weren’t sure if it was moments or hours anymore, and you’re sure if you could see yourself, you’d be embarrassed by whatever act you were doing. But none of it was a thought in your brain anymore, emptied-headed and fucked. That’s what you were, your brain cutting out as you felt your body slump out of his hold and onto the sheets one last time.

What happened after that exact point, you weren’t really sure, but in the moments after the fall, you felt a soothing hand on your stomach. Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, barely fluttering open as you adjusted to every sound and feeling around you. There was a warmth between your thighs dribbling out and a hand on your stomach that wasn’t touching with intent, it was stroking so softly like he was trying to coax you back to him. A faint mumbling filled your ears as he soothed you in whatever way he could.

“You’re okay, baby…” He hummed softly, the two of you now lying on the bed, his body leaning on his side as he looked over you. “Did so good for me…”

It was lazy the way your head turned, eyes swimming with tiredness, to look at him.

All Aemond could do was smile lazily back, his own face the most tender it had been all night, “Look who’s awake.”

Your lips parted dryly before they closed again, no energy left to even speak.

“You okay, bunny?” He hummed softly, dipping his head slightly to look at you, eyes warm with care, “You blacked out for a second.”

“I’m okay…” You whispered softly, the flush on your face warm and your body sunk into his bed.

“Good…” He purred, his hand moving off your stomach to reach beyond you.

You had assumed he was turning the camera off, but you were surprised when his hand appeared with a glass; water swishing in the glass as he moved it to you with a soft sigh.

“Drink, baby,” He tutted softly, helping you up with him as he sat up slightly, pressing the glass to your mouth as your hand shakily moved to hold it with him.

God, it really was like finding an oasis in the desert as the cold liquid slipped down your tender throat. Your body leaned partly on his chest as you gulped the water down greedily, his free arm wrapping around you to brush your side softly.

“There you go…” He sighed warmly, making sure you didn’t slip into any uncomfortable place, his lips by your ear as he spoke softly to you, “You were so good for me, baby…”

After a few moments, he placed the glass on the bedside table before pulling you closer to him, his warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting embrace. Aemond’s fingers continued their slow, absentminded tracing along your arm, his touch featherlight, grounding you back into reality.

Your body still tingled from the intensity of the night, exhaustion weighing down your limbs like a heavy velvet blanket. You let out a breath, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the heady scent of your session that clung to him. Giving yourself a few moments of reprieve from the absolute storm that was him.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pressed a kiss against your temple. “That tired, hm?”

You hummed in response, words too much effort when all you wanted was to stay wrapped up in him, in this moment. His arm tightened around you, his palm smoothing slow, lazy circles along your back as he held you close. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your steady breaths filling the dimly lit room.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in his arms, his touch keeping you tethered to reality. But eventually, Aemond let out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to your hair before carefully slipping from you. The loss of his warmth made you stir slightly, your fingers weakly grasping for him, but he only shushed you gently.

“Just getting you a shirt, bunny,” he murmured, brushing a hand over your cheek before stepping away.

You barely cracked your eyes open as you watched him move, his bare back to you as he rummaged through his drawers. The exhaustion in your limbs made it impossible to do anything but wait, sinking further into the bed as exhaustion tugged at your edges.

Then he was back, helping you up slightly before draping a soft, worn shirt over your head, guiding your arms through it, his touch tender. Once you were settled, he laid you back in the covers again.

“Feeling better?” His tone was softer than usual, but there was something beneath it, something careful, almost hesitant.

You blinked up at him, drowsy, but nodded. “Yeah…”

Aemond exhaled through his nose, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your side. He was drawing shapes you couldn’t understand, his eyes looking over you in his bed, his body still bare to you.

It was almost reverent like the two of you didn’t just fuck like animals for god knows how long, but it was nice, comforting even. Your brain finally settled down as you moaned softly, settling into bed like you never wanted to leave, his face amused as he watched you.

“Can I ask you something, bunny?” He murmured softly breaking the silence, his hand settling on your hip possessively, his eye slightly wicked with intent.

“Hmm…” You tiredly moaned in response, eyes half-lidded and face in his pillow as you tried to listen to him.

He smirked softly, and then, after a beat.

“Come on tour with me.”

While I do not own the characters, I retain full copyright over this written work. Under no circumstances may this content be translated, copied, reposted, or used for AI training or any other purpose without my explicit permission.

[yakuly]

  Poção do Ódio - K.NJ³

NamjoonCorvinal! × Leitora Lufana

Palavras: 3.077

Sinopse: Desde o primeiro dia em que pisou no castelo de Hogwarts, Kim Namjoon ficou conhecido por sua inteligência, sagacidade e paixão por devorar livros e mais livros, mas Namjoon não tinha nenhuma habilidade com garotas. Especialmente quando essa garota, é uma lufana leal à suas amigas.

N/a: 😀 Eu sei que demorei, e que sumi, por isso peço desculpas pessoal! Maaas para me redimir trouxe o último capítulo do Namjoon, espero que gostem! (E prometo tentar trazer dinâmica diferentes para os próximos casais, qualquer pedido é só mandar, minha ask tá sempre aberto!)

K. NJ¹ | K.NJ² | K.NJ³

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

Namjoon saiu do refeitório com Jin logo atrás arrastando Jimin, os dois indo atrás da única pessoa que nesse momento poderia os ajudar: Jeon Jungkook O grifinório passou tanto tempo entre livros e na biblioteca com sua "tutora", que dentre os sete, ele era o único com conhecimento confiável de poções e seus efeitos

  Felizmente foi fácil de o achar, pois estava na biblioteca, e para surpresa dos dois, parecia ter finalmente conquistado sua "cobrinha", por outro lado, os olhos de Seokjin, Namjoon - e Jimin se esse não estivesse fora de sí - foram agraciados com o casal já bem íntimos: Jeon que estava sentado no cadeira, colocou as pernas da sonserina em cima das suas, e seu rosto estava próximo demais da garota que ria de qualquer besteira que o moreno falava.

   Jin chama a atenção, em um pigarreio alto, vendo o casal se separar, e as bochechas da menor criarem um tom avermelhado de vergonha e eles a observam tentar se arrumar, tirando as pernas de cima do rapaz, que faz careta pela falta de toque.

   "Hyungs podemos ajudar?" Jungkook pergunta em tom sarcástico, mas seus amigos deixam passar, dadas as circunstâncias.

  "O sarcasmo passou do ponto, mas sim" Seokjin toma a dianteira, mas é Namjoon quem aponta para Jimin:

  "Achamos que ele pode estar sob o efeito da poção do amor." O casal se entreolharam antes de se levantarem para analisarem o loiro. Sua colega sonserina passo uma de suas mãos à frente do rosto do loiro sem muita perspectiva, ou receber alguma resposta normal do mesmo Jungkook se apoia na mesa, de braços cruzados observando o amigo que olhava para o nada, com a maior cara de bobo

  "Merlim... eu pareço otário assim, olhando pra cobrinha?" Jeon pensa alto sem se dar conta que falou alto o suficiente para que o pequeno grupo presente escutasse recebendo um uníssono "sim", se assustando com a resposta. O grifinório se recompõe coçando a garganta "Tudo bem, mas como aconteceu?"

  Namjoon explica os acontecimentos recentes e como ele e kim chegaram a conclusão de que poderia ser a poção do amor, enquanto além de escutar a história, a garota tento manter Jimin sentado no cadeira quando tudo que o também sonserino queria era sair correndo para "sua Pandora".

   "E vocês querem quebrar o feitiço..." a garota termina, entendendo a situação, ele olha para Jimin se divertindo com seu estado, já pensando em como não o deixaria esquecer desse momento.  "Vocês precisam de uma poção do ódio"

"E isso existe?!" Jin Pergunta chocado, com seus olhos arregalados. Jungkook zomba do rapaz, que revida com um peteleco na sua cabeça. "Tudo bem gênio, então o que precisa pra fazer?"

   O mais novo olha para a sonserina, esperando que ela responda, mas ela apenas indica para que ele o faça. Jeon fazuma careta, mas começa a pensar mesmo assim, "Uhm... Ovos de Fada Mordente... Suco de Limão...e...ah!" ele geme frustrado, mas se recorda mesmo assim: "Ah! Ah! Cabelo da pessoa que é pra odiar!"

  Ao passo que a garoto o elogia com um olhar afeiçoado, passando a mão pelos cabelos do rapaz, Jin e Namjoon se entreolharam os ignorando, e preocupados com o último ingrediente. Como conseguiriam um fio de cabelo da garota?!

"Por Merlim, será que você pode separar dela ?!" Namjoon reclama quando percebe Jungkook abraçado no corpo da menor, beijando seu pescoço. Ela o faz se soltar, o que não o agrada nada mas faz mesmo assim, "Só tem um problema, como vamos conseguir um fio de cabelo da garota?"

Enquanto os quatro pensavam em alguma coisa, Jimin suspirou alto, atraindo a atenção de todos, e acendendo uma luizinha no cabeça de Namjoon.

...

  Encontrar Pandora foi fácil, Jimin parecia ter um faro especial para a garota e a encontrou com S/n no pátio externo do escola. As duas estavam no mesmo local onde Namjoon antes estava, porem as duas agiam completamente diferente uma da outra: enquanto Pandora segurava uma caixa em formato de coração vazia, ela parecia bem frustrada, gesticulando e olhando para todos os cantos, enquanto sua amiga estava apenas sentada tentando entender a amiga.

  Quando Jimin apareceu ao lado das duas, a loira fez uma careta horrível, que durou dois segundos antes de ser substituída por puro desespero. Se antes Pandora já gesticulava, agora ela chamava atenção de todos, enquanto parecia confrontar Jimin por alguma coisa, mas o rapaz apenas o encarava como um idiota.

  Olhando em volta, ela acaba encontrando Namjoon e Jin que observavam de longe a interação. Seus olhos e boca se arregalam em pânico, e ela se virou prontamente para sair correndo, fazendo com que os Kim's também corram em sua direção, com medo de que não consigam a confrontar como planejado, mas surpreendendo à todos a loira esbarra com alguém de uniforme verde, que Nam e Jin so descobrem ser sua nova aliada, a namorada de Jungkook, quando estão próximos o suficiente.

  "O que faz aqui?"  S/n  indaga se levantando e mudando a sua feiçãode confusa para mais confusa e estãopara puro ódio quando enxerga Namjoon, e quando ela se levanta para tentar o atacar de alguma forma, Jungkook a impede.

    "Então... você vai contar o que aprontou..." a sonserina olha para a loira com uma sobrancelha acusatória "...ou preciso te dar uma forcinha?" ela ameaça a ponta de sua varinha brilhando. Pandora olha pra todos ali, percebendo estar encurralada, ela se da por vencida suspirando a lufana deixa seu corpo cair sentado no banco em que estavam, e começa a confessar:

  "Tudo bem... Eu tenho gostado de você por um tempo..." ela aponta para Namjoon, o chocando. Como ela poderia gostar dele, sem ele nunca ter falado com ela?! "E queria chamar sua atenção mas não sabia como, então preparei biscoitos e coloquei a poção do amor e te entreguei naquele dia..." a loira pausa mais uma vez. Seu olhar se vira para Jimin, com claro desprezo e frustração "Mas descobri que o idiotinha aqui quem os comeu quando você deixou a caixa de lado depois de ganhar."

"E sua amiga? Isso não explica porque ela quase me matou!" Namjoon exige dando um passo para frente, e recebendo uma olhada mortal da tal garota.

"E- eu não sei...Juro!" Pandora parecia ser sincero em não saber, aparentemente sua única verdade em toda essa confusão que criou. "Mas acho que ela pode estar sob o efeito da poção do ódio. Quando estava lendo sobre a poção do amor, vi que a do ódio é seu oposto, e umo é o antídoto da outra, e s/n parece ter todos os sintomas da poção do ódio, mas eu juro que não tenho nada com isso!"

"Só tem um jeito de descobrir" Jungkook oferece olhando para todos.

...

   Namjoon tinha que concordar que apesar de horripilante e fria, as masmorras sonserinas eram olugar ideal para preparar e tomar as poções, afinal os poucos que não estavam em seus quartos, não ligavam para eles. E assim, o novo e nojento casal de Hogwarts pôde fazer ambas as poções em uma sincronia quase assustadora.

   Jimin tomou a sua primeiro, sentado em uma poltrona bem longe de Pandora, que o observava de longe sentada nos degraus, com uma cara triste. As pupilas do rapaz se expandem e logo voltam ao normal, suas bochechas ficam rosadas e Park pisca algumas vezes se ajustando a nova localidade.

    "Quando foi que cheguei aqui?" Todos ao redor se entreolham e pedem para que Pandora se aproxime, para ter certeza que a poção fez seu efeito. Quando ela já está próxima o suficiente de Jimin, ele se vira para a ver, e faz a careta mais sincera que seus amigos já viram, arrancando uma gargalhada Jin e Jungkook gargalharem.

  "Vamos deixar você explicar..." O mais novo comenta, recebendo um olhar de ódio da loira, mas ela suspira e começa a falar para o rapazque escuta com atenção. Deixando o drama n° 1 de lado a atenção então é voltada para a segunda trama da novela dramática do dia.

  A sonserina entrega o copo com a poção para S/n que a olha desconfiada se desencostando da parede onde estava, mas não fala nada, apenas a ingere o líquido lentamente. Assim como Park Jimin sus pupilas mudam de tamanho e suas bochechas coram, mas por estar em pé, a garota sente uma leve tontura, quase caindo, se não fosse pelos reflexos da pessoa mais próxima, que conseguiram a seguraram tempo.

As mãos firmes de Namjoon encontram a cintura da garota que se apoia em seu torso, antes de levantar a cabeça lentamente olhando ao redor, encontrar diversos olhos ansiosos nela "Onde é que..." a garota começa a perguntar, confusa, mas quando seus olhos encontram o rosto do dono dos braços, um silêncio ensurdecedor se apropria da sala. Todos com a expectativa de saber se a poção realmente funcionou ou não, mas para Namjoon o modo como ela o olhou já disse tudo.

  Ambos se encaram por alguns segundos, ambas as pupilas se dilatam, a respiração da garota fica pesada, e as suas bochechas ficam vermelhas. A garota abre e fecha a boca várias vezes mas não consegue proferir nenhuma palavra. Namjoon observa os olhos da menina lutarem para encontrar um bom ponto de fixação,  mas passando por seu tronco, até ver que eles ainda estavam conectados pelo braço, que ela solta rapidamente.

   "S/n!" Pandora surge chamando sua atenção, e a garota parece finalmente perceber que estava rodeada de pessoas que são apenas...conhecidas. "Por Merlin! O que você andou fazendo?" A loira indaga mostrando o frasco da poção do ódio que ela achou guardada em seu baú, quando ela conseguiu o pegar, Namjoon não sabe, mas isso não importa agora.

  "Ahm, é uma história um pouco longa...e vergonhosa..." S/n responde torcendo os dedos das mãos, claramente desconfortável ela tenta não olhar para além da amiga, uma vez que todos parecem curiosos, mas a loira parece realmente preocupada.

  "Ah, a gente tem tempo!" Jungkook comenta levando um peteleco da sua namorada, e um tapa de Seokjin, o fazendo gemer de dor.

  "Eu vou explicar tudo, mas posso falar com a Pandora primeiro? Sozinha" A lufana pede pra amiga, que está prestes a responder quando Namjoon se pronuncia exasperado: "eu acho que deveria estar junto, também,  já que, você sabe...você quase me matou!" considerando que sempre a via, a garota possuía uma áurea assassina ao seu redor, Kim acha muito estranho a ver desse modo nervoso, mal o olhando nos olhos, e constantemente ruborizada.

   "Podem usar o meu quarto" a namorada de Jeon se aproxima, irrompendo na conversa "depois vocês podem conversar a sós la também" diz olhando da lufana para Namjoon, que percebe não ter escolha, e apenas confirma com a cabeça, vencido.

   As três somem no corredor e ficam por longos minutos. Jimin diz que apesar de amar uma fofoca, ele tinha uma coisa muito importante para fazer em outro lugar, e saiu correndo masmorra a fora. Kim Namjoon volta a reclamar, agora com Jeon com o fato de sua namorada ter nao somente oferecido um lugar privativo mas como também e ter ficado lá de guarda o impedindo de ir lá ouvir escondido.

   "Me desculpa por ser uma garota com considerações a amizades" como um fantasma que acabou de ser conjurado, a garota sonserina surge fazendo com que a alma do corvinal quase saia de seu corpo e ele seja condenado a viver nas masmorras para sempre. Nam odiou o sorriso irônico que ela sustentou. "É a sua vez campeão!"

...

   Como o esperado o quarto onde S/n esperava estava incrível frio, fazendo com que ela estivesse constantemente arrepiada nos poucos minutos que ali ficara. Namjoon abre a porta e silenciosamente entra no cômodo, fechando-a logo em seguida. Conversar com Pandora já foi complicado, já que apesar de amigas, ela ter evitado essa conversa antes foi o que as levaram para tal situação, mas agora ela teria que explicar para Kim Namjoon, suas motivações ridículas que a fizeram quase o matar. Oba...

  Os dois se encaram por dois segundos, antes que a lufana mude a direção de seu olhar, nervosa com o olhar de Namjoon. Ela sempre foi uma garota confiante, e desde que o viu dando uma bronca em Jungkook se sentiu atraída pelos olhos de dragão do rapaz, mas agora a situação era complicada, e tudo por culpa dela.

"Acho que eu tenho que começar pedindo desculpas por tudo o que eu causei..." ela começa, olhando para os próprios pés suspensos balançando,

  "E por quase me matar" Namjoon interrompe, mas na intenção de complementar a informação, causando um rubor a mais subir nas bochechas da garota, e é contorcer o rosto em uma careta, mas com um suspiro concordar.

  "Certo, e por isso também...é só que...você faria qualquer coisa pelos seus amigos, não é?" Pergunta, e como ela ainda olhava o chão, perdeu o modo como Namjoon ergueu a sobrancelha em dúvida sobre onde ela estava indo para se explicar, mas ele concorda, pois sim, ele faria de tudo por seus idiotas. "Bom, você sabe que a Pandora estava um tanto a fim de você, e quando ela me contou isso, eu tive que tomar uma decisão, mas não imaginava que ela optaria por algo parecido mas contrário..."

"Espera, você tá me dizendo que bebeu a poção do odio porque a Pandora me daria a do amor?"

O olhar confuso que S/n o olhou foi quase cômico, mas ele estava confuso de mais para entender o motivo dela estar confusa, e até ofendida.

"O que?! Não foi nada disso que eu disse...! Mesmo!" Kim a viu o olhar de cima abaixo, com escárnio no rosto "tem certeza que você é corvinal? Tipo, se você não entendeu isso, como é que você entra na sala comum?"

A garota entra em um devaneio que passa a entreter o rapaz no quarto com ela, que quando menos percebe está sorrindo com o modo como ela fala sem perceber o que está falando. Mas logo ele se lembra que ainda quer respostas, e a interrompe rapidamente.

  "Eu acho que você está na casa certa..." ele resmunga e a olha, a encontrando vermelha mais uma vez, "mas você ainda não explicou por que quis me odiar"

  "Meu Deus garoto! Eu quis te odiar por que não posso estar a fim do mesmo cara que a minha melhor amiga!" S/n responde se levantando da cama, frustrada. Namjoon leva um susto não só com a movimentação repentina, mas também com as palavras da garota.

  Os dois se olham por loongos segundos. Ambos absorvendo o que foi dito. Até a garota não aguentar mais a situação, e começar a falar para preencher o silêncio vergonhoso.

  "Você deve tá pensando 'como ela pode gostar de mim se a gente nunca nem se falou?' E caramba viu, você é muito literal, precisa deixar esse cérebro viajar um pouco! Pra um corvinal você pensa muito dentro da caixa! Como que o chapéu não te mandou pra Grifinória? Eu acho que combina muito com você, sabe? O jeito líder, que eles amam pensar que são, o orgulho..."

Kim escuta a garota, estupefato com a mudança de personalidade que ela apresenta. Mas não o entenda mal, ele prefere mil vezes essa versão a sua frente: falante, brilhante, com uma aura brilhante, e mais importante: nada assassina.

   Tão absorto em como S/n fala e em sua rapidez, que mal percebe como ela estava o distraindo para sair do quarto e se livrar da situação toda. Porém assim que ele percebe que sua mão estava prestes a girar a maçaneta da porta, Kim rapidamente a puxa pela cintura a prendendo contra a parede ao seu lado, uma mão ainda a segurando firme, e a outra na parede, próximo ao seu rosto. Seu lindo rosto que agora possui tons de vermelho.

  "E o que a gente faz então? Por que eu quero te conhecer, sabe? Para além da minha quase assassina..."

"O que? Eu disse que a Pandora..."

                     Eu já falei que tudo bem! 

  A voz abafada de Pandora soa do outro lado da porta. Namjoon se afasta da garota para abrir a porta — mantendo a na cintura bem onde ela estava, não que a garota estivesse surtando internamente por isso — quando a madeira se abre, eles encontram a loira.

"Eu sabia que ela ia tentar fugir" a loira observa a amiga que estava presa dentro do quarto, quando ela vê a mão de Namjoon sorri erguendo as sobrancelhas para a amiga que ruboriza ainda mais. "Nós conversamos, e se ela gosta tanto de mim a ponto de beber uma poção pra te odiar, então eu posso ficar bem com vocês dois juntos"

As duas dividem uma troca de olhares significativa entre elas, e Pandora se vira para os deixar sozinhos, mas rapidamente se vira, e olha fundo nos olhos de Namjoon: "mas se a magoar, não vou precisar de poção alguma para te perseguir até o inferno"

Finalmente sozinhos, o corvinal fecha a porta mais uma vez, olhando para S/n que agora tem um sorrisinho de canto, o observando.

  "Então, Hogwarts vai pra Hogsmaede amanhã, o que me diz de me acompanhar?"

  "Só com uma condição" a garota pede, levantando o queixo como um desafio, mas o brilho nos seus olhos divertiam Kim "você tem que parar de me chamar de assassina, ou insinuar que quase te matei!"

  "Eu posso tentar, mas você também precisa parar de tentar me tirar da minha casa!" Namjoon ergue uma sobrancelha a fazendo rir, mas concordar com a condição imposta. "Mas quer saber? Você seria uma assassina atraente..." ele comenta, deixando um beijo no canto da boca da garota.